


dreams for wings and wanderers

by Etharei



Category: Merlin (TV), Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Crossover, Dragons, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-17
Updated: 2012-08-17
Packaged: 2017-11-12 08:33:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 66,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/488853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etharei/pseuds/Etharei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dragons are feared and mistrusted throughout Albion, and there are very few of them left in Camelot, for Uther’s long campaign against magic also included hunting down all the dragons in the wild. Now, Camelot is recovering from the invasion of Cenred and Morgause's army. Prince Arthur is the one in charge, and Merlin finds out that his secret regular visits to the covert haven't been very secret at all. There's a great deal of manly bonding with the Knights, inquisitive dragons being inquisitive, and a record-breaking number of near-death experiences for Merlin. And this is before he gets his very own dragon. (A Merlin/Temeraire fusion.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This fic was written for[PAPER LEGENDS BIG BANG 2012](http://paperlegends.livejournal.com).**
> 
>  
> 
> The MAGNIFICENT ART in this fic is by the amazingly talented [reni_m](http://reni-m.livejournal.com/); a masterpost of all of them can be found [HERE](http://einahpets-art.livejournal.com/17414.html). I can only hope that my words did her work justice!
> 
> Infinite, endless THANKS AND LOVE to my brilliant, beloved betas:  
> \- [Footloose](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Footloose/pseuds/Footloose), for all the support and words of encouragement and comments that made me write better  
> \- [xsilverdreamsx](http://archiveofourown.org/users/xsilverdreamsx/pseuds/xsilverdreamsx), for keeping me from going insane and emergency beta-reading at 3AM in the morning  
> All remaining mistakes are mine alone.
> 
> EXTRA SPECIAL THANK YOU to [The Muppet](http://the-muppet.livejournal.com) for their patience and understanding, even after my epic failure at meeting deadlines. FANDOM ANGEL ♥
> 
> Also THANK YOU to my superhero cheerleaders [janescott](http://archiveofourown.org/users/janescott/pseuds/janescott) and [magenta](http://archiveofourown.org/users/magenta/pseuds/magenta), who were basically my Twitter life support.
> 
>  
> 
> NOTES:  
> This fic assumes familiarity with _Merlin_ (BBC) Season 4; accordingly, there are **spoilers** for certain events that took place during that season. Familiarity with the _Temeraire_ book series by Naomi Novik is not required. It's a fusion of both worlds, so while I tried to keep to the spirit of each universe, I also budged details around to make things fit.

  


**PROLOGUE**

Standing vigil at somebody's bedside, Arthur decided, should never feel this wearyingly familiar. He'd held it for his father many times before the last, long year; for brave men who'd done their duty to Camelot and to Arthur; for Merlin, like now, as often as Merlin had done for him. 

Except this time was different: Merlin was quiet, unmoving, nearly as pale as the clean linen on which he lay. Merlin usually sweated and struggled and, once, screamed himself hoarse when he was brought low by the assorted poisons, curses, and vicious creatures regularly sent Arthur's way. Between the two of them, Arthur was the one who suffered silently, determined to show his father that he was strong. Though it was remarkable how Merlin's presence could inspire noisome complaints from him when they were alone - such things must be contagious.

"All these years you've whined to me when you so much as stubbed your toe," Arthur muttered. The crackle in his voice told of long hours of disuse. "Don't tell me you're going to slip out now without so much as a parting remark." A pause. "I forbid it. I'll tell everyone about how you stole all those dresses on the laundry line and draped them over the Mercian delegation's horses."

"If I remember correctly," said someone from the door. Arthur didn't bother turning; her voice was unmistakable, and in any case, there was only one person whose steps were so quiet, and whom the guards would admit into Arthur's presence without question. "It was you, all along, but you got him drunk the night before and convinced him that he was the one who'd done it."

Arthur chuckled. "I watched him scurrying around the citadel all day, avoiding my father and trying not to look guilty."

A warm hand came to rest on his shoulder. "You were quite awful to him, at first," said Gwen fondly.

It was difficult, all of a sudden, to take the next breath. "Still am," he whispered.

A coward's confession. But Gwen, dearest Gwen, who knew how to take a person's heart into her very capable hands and keep it safe, merely said, "At least now he knows that you care."

"Does he?" The uncertainty in his voice did not at all belong to a King. But, he reasoned, every person in this room had seen him at his worst a dozen times over.

"You could be a little clearer about it," said Gwen gently, "But yes, of course he does." He closed his eyes. Thought about how he loved Gwen, truly, and likely always would. She squeezed his shoulder, then pulled away. He followed the light tread of her soft shoes, the swish of her skirt, back across the room. The door opened quietly.

"He didn't leave Camelot," said Gwen, as if in an afterthought, "He could have, easily, but he didn't. He was _waiting_ , Arthur."

  
**  
_There is a legend, in the old country, that says:  
The world is a dragon’s dream._   
**   



	2. Dragons of Camelot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those familiar with ' _Temeraire_ ', the dragons in this 'verse are a great deal smaller than in the books. My justification for this choice is that the dragons likely grew to the size they do in the books due to many generations of selective breeding. During Merlin's time, they would probably still be quite small.

  


**CHAPTER ONE: DRAGONS OF CAMELOT**

Merlin skidded down the steep dirt path. It was one of many that led down the high hill upon which Camelot stood: a queen of a city overlooking her lush, verdant lands. He neatly hopped over a patch of treacherously smooth stones; he had twisted his ankle there during his first year in the city. Now he could navigate these grounds blind, which came in handy on the semi-regular occasions he'd needed to use the route after sundown. 

He felt eyes on his person the moment he was out of sight of the main road. There was not a twitch from the surroundings woods, however. _Good._ He'd worried that his long and patient training had been forgotten during his unexpectedly lengthy absence.

Or perhaps something had happened? He quickened his pace, jogging through an especially dense section of wood that encircled a large clearing, acting as both a screen and as a deterrent to blundering passersby. Was it too quiet? But it was daylight - noon, specifically. _Nap-time._

The entrance to the covert was as he remembered it: a tall, broad cave-mouth, reinforced all around by solid, smoothly cut stone. If there had been any designs on the stone - and Merlin suspected there had been - the years had eroded them to smoothness.

There was no one in sight when he stepped into the covert. Sound travelled remarkably well through the extensive network of caves, however, and it was a simple matter to follow the direction of all the shouting and growling.

"Got a new one, Otho?" he greeted the covert-master cheerfully when he found the man wrestling with a young Greyling. 

Otho's head whipped around at the sound of his voice. Merlin sighed inwardly; as far as he knew, he was the only person to ever venture into the covert, yet Otho always acted as if someone from the castle was going to show up at any moment to check on him. 

"A Bright Copper. Poor thing was sniffing around the clearing this morning," replied Otho, once he'd assured himself that it was just Merlin. "Half-starved. Barely had the strength to paw at the goat I gave him."

"I'm surprised any of them managed to survive," said Merlin, "Much less remain hidden, after Morgause's army ravaged the forest." 

Merlin walked further into the holding cave, stopping several paces away to wait for the Greyling to register his presence. Once those bright, slit-pupiled eyes settled on him, he approached slowly, keeping his movements calm and confident. Otho released the harness and scurried off once Merlin was within reach of those gleaming, vicious-looking talons.

Merlin and the Greyling locked eyes for a long, tense moment. 

Then, Merlin broke into a wide smile. 

"Hello, Pliny. Did you miss me?"

Pliny let out a screech and joyfully butted him in the chest; Merlin would have been knocked flat onto his arse if he hadn't been expecting it and had braced himself accordingly. He laughed, stroking the dragon's neck. "I know you don't like strangers in your territory, Pliny," he said, taking a guess at the source of the Greyling’s disgruntlement, "But the ferals don't have anywhere else to go. They have their own level down below - it's not as if you even have to see them."

The dragon gave him a petulant look - which bore a hilarious similarity to Arthur's, and Merlin squirreled away that thought for the next time the Prince tried to throw a tantrum - but eventually Pliny let out a resigned rumble, head dipping in acquiescence. Merlin rewarded him with a few hard scratches under the scale-rough jaw.

"They missed you, you know," Otho's voice drifted out from behind the barricade that stood along one wall. "Never thought I'd see dragons pining, but the whole lot of them did, sniffing around every time I came down. Even the ferals."

"I didn't mean to stay away so long," Merlin said apologetically. "It's just been hectic up at the castle, between repairing everything that got damaged and accounting for the lost crops and seeing to all the new refugees. Plus, you know. The King." He left unsaid that his absence would have been noticed. 

Otho poked his head out around the barricade. "The Prince must be keeping a tight watch if a servant can't slip away for a few hours."

"Why, Master Otho - did _you_ miss me as well?" Merlin grinned.

The covert-master let out a snort and didn't answer.

Merlin stifled his laugh and obeyed Pliny's unsubtle hints to move his petting to the dragon's flank. "It's getting better now. The Prince's new Knights are helping to organize the reparations, and the King even made an appearance at court. Um, or so I heard." It had been very brief, but Uther had mustered enough of himself to appear almost like he had of old, if a bit pale and haggard around the edges. He'd done it for Arthur, Merlin knew, because the atmosphere of uncertainty and caution that had lain like a dark cloud over the court had lightened considerably afterwards. Only Gaius, Arthur, Gwen, and Merlin knew that the effort had left Uther bedridden and insensate for an entire week.

It was well worth it, though - Arthur had been having a considerably easier time dealing with the multitude of courtiers and noblemen since then.

"Are you sure no one followed you down here, boy?" 

Merlin suppressed a sigh. " _Yes_ , I'm sure."

To be fair, Otho _was_ committing a crime by harbouring ferals - dragons who came from the wild, instead of Camelot's long-established stock. Merlin was so used to breaking the law right under Uther's nose that further transgressions barely register on him now. 

Then again, it wasn't as if anybody really _cared_ about what was going on in the covert. As long as the Knights' dragons showed up when summoned, Otho was left to do what he liked. The Knights themselves had never even entered the covert; Otho brought the dragons out to the large clearing outside the entrance. It wasn't against the law, technically, for Merlin to be there. Fear and superstition kept people away. Anybody who showed a little too much interest in draconic welfare was usually noticed by Uther - and nobody wanted to be noticed by Uther.

Well, they didn't have to worry about those Knights anymore.

Merlin took off the simple harness that Pliny was wearing. It was comprised of leather straps encircling Pliny's neck and shoulders, nothing at all like the complicated ensemble fashioned for the dragons of Knights. "I'll take Pliny back below."

"Send up Grainne," said Otho, "I need to take a look at her, she's been coughing since the rains started."

~*~

 

On his way back to the citadel, Merlin passed a group of children playing next to the main road that ran through the lower town. One young boy was running around while vigorously flapping his arms. He stomped towards a knot of much younger children and roared with vigor, sending them scrambling away and squeaking with laughter. Another group, all boys, formed a rough half-circle around him and advanced, slowly, brandishing stick-swords. 

Merlin had to give them points for a fairly accurate recreation of a dragon-hunt, though the sight made him wince and twist inside.

He wanted to leave, but his body felt rooted to the spot; this was something he'd known was _wrong_ and had wanted to change long before he'd known he could, of a piece with his magic and yet more complicated. 

After all, the law against magic doomed only him. 

He stayed to the last: naturally, the Knights were brave and victorious, and the savage beast gave a last, hopeless roar before it sprawled mightily over the ground, slain.

~*~

"Ah, you're back," said Gaius after Merlin walked through the door. "How is old Otho?"

"Still convinced that Uther is going to show up without warning and hang him for harbouring ferals," replied Merlin. 

Gaius gave him a pointed look. "As someone who has reason to be cautious himself, I would think that you'd be sympathetic to an old man's paranoia." He raised a half-full flask at Merlin. "In fact, he must be getting mellow. Years ago he wouldn't have let someone so close to the Prince inside the covert, let alone have you handling the dragons."

Merlin bit his lip. "Um."

The flask was placed back on the table. Gaius was in the process of picking up a pair of tongs when he seemed to register Merlin's tone. "What is it, Merlin?"

"I. Um." Merlin absently cast his eyes around the cluttered workspace. "I may have... never actually told him that I'm Arthur's manservant."

The look Gaius sent him spoke of long suffering and resignation, as if sometime over the last few years he'd expected Merlin to have gotten better at making sensible life choices. "Merlin."

"I assumed he would know!" protested Merlin. "He works for the King! Technically. And everyone in the citadel knows I'm Arthur's." He coughs. "Um. That is, I work for Arthur. By the time I figured out that Otho doesn't ever leave the covert, it was already too late, and I didn't want him keeping me from seeing the dragons."

"So you've been lying."

"Only by omission! Which, still isn't _good_ , I'm not saying it is, but I do have a lot of other things I'm _actively_ lying about, so after a while I just... forgot?"

Gaius just shook his head and wordlessly handed Merlin a bowl to stir.

 

~*~

 

Arthur was sitting slumped over his desk when Merlin let himself into the Prince's chambers. "Good evening!" Merlin greeted him cheerfully, beaming when he got a scowl in return. His lord and master was due for a headache soon, if the lines on the royal forehead were any indication. "I've brought your dinner."

When that failed to bring about mutterings of _bloody obviously_ because of the blatantly food-laden tray in Merlin's arms, Merlin eased down the obnoxious exuberance and took a closer look at Arthur. The bags under his eyes weren't quite as heavy as they had been during the first few weeks after the re-taking of Camelot, but they were still there. Merlin remembered his stolen hours at the covert earlier - visiting Terty and Decima and Hespy and introducing himself to some of the new ferals - and felt a twinge of guilt for abandoning Arthur during that time, though he wouldn't have been doing anything more productive than standing against the wall with the other servants while Arthur listened to petitions. 

He took more care than usual in setting out Arthur's food. Not that he clanked the dinnerware and spilled things, these days. Much. Unless he was angry, or annoyed, or Arthur deserved it. Lifting the full jug of wine reminded him of the bruise developing on his back. While he’d been pleased to find that Elpis still remembered how to play their personal version of 'tag’, involving Merlin hiding in the labyrinth of caves below the covert; he’d become a little less so when she somehow decided that tagging Merlin involved _flinging herself at him_. Luckily, prolonged exposure to Arthur had made him adept at dodging things, so he'd only ended up knocked onto his back instead of, say, crushed under five tons of dragon. 

"Arthur?" he prompted, several minutes later when Arthur had done nothing but stare at the table. Arthur blinked, and looked surprised to see all the food in front of him. To Merlin's relief, he immediately tucked in; Arthur not eating was bad news for everyone.

Merlin took it as his cue to start straightening up the room. He hesitated before launching into his usual chatter, because Arthur's headache, when it arrived, would surely be blamed on him, but he decided that he'd be blamed anyway. Besides, when Arthur really wanted him to shut up, he wasn't exactly shy about saying so. Merlin rambled about the markets and the work on the outer wall and heavily implied that he'd gone into the woods in the afternoon to pick herbs for Gaius.

To his surprise, Arthur didn't interrupt him, and when Merlin next glanced at the Prince, he thought the lines of Arthur's body looked a little less tense. It was probably the food and the good wine, but Merlin couldn't help feeling a little pleased anyway. 

"And Gwaine waylaid me in the hallway on my way here and tried to steal some of your food _again_ -"

"The nobles are complaining that I give my Knights preferential treatment," Arthur interrupted somberly. 

Merlin blinked. "Well, I thought that's always been the case? There's a reason so many of them want to become Knights."

"Not the Knights of Camelot, Merlin," Arthur said. " _My_ Knights. That's what everyone calls them - Arthur's Knights. Surely even you have heard."

Ah. The ones Arthur had knighted on his own authority, who had banded around Arthur after Morgana seized Camelot's throne. "The Knights of the Round Table?" he asked, half-jokingly. He didn't know how that particular detail had reached the gossiping public, but he suspected it started with a 'G' and ended with 'waine', hastened along by a liberal dosing of free ale.

 _There_ was the glare the King's household knew and loved.

"The people think them heroes," Merlin said, sobering. "They talk of how these men pledged their allegiance to you and helped you win back Camelot, even though they faced an immortal army. _'Noble in deed rather than in blood.'_ The people respect you for showing them honour despite their station and the old traditions."

"Be that as it may, the old traditions are not so easily put aside," said Arthur.

Merlin frowned. "Surely you don’t mean to withdraw the knighthood from them?"

Arthur shook his head. "No. That wouldn't be fair. And you're right, it gives the people heart to see some of their own raised up in honour. I know that I would rather have any one of them than some of the twits I've been forced to train in the past because of their family's lineage." He idly played with his fork. "But I still need the nobles' support. They claim that I show my Knights favouritism - see, even I think of them as _my_ Knights - by giving them a great deal of responsibility. Well, of course I do, they get the work done and done well."

And Arthur, Merlin knew, would be doubly irked by any implication that his decisions were anything less than fair.

"You know that Lancelot, Leon, Gwaine, Elyan, and Percival will do anything you ask of them, Arthur," said Merlin. He meant it to be reassuring, but Arthur's glare told him that Arthur found his comment singularly unhelpful. 

"I just need to _do_ something," said Arthur. "This is... this could be the start of a new tradition, Merlin. One where a man can be worthy of being a Knight without being born into the right family. But first, I need these worthy men to be accepted. I have to show that, regardless of my personal feelings towards them as individuals, these new Knights are equal to all the others." Merlin mentally added, _the ones that are still left, anyway_. From Arthur's pause and subtle grimace, he suspected Arthur had just done the same; Morgana had been quite... thorough, during her tenure on the throne. "I have to make some kind of gesture."

The fireplace needed more wood. Merlin moved toward it and hid a wince when he had to bend down to grab the poker, the bruise on his back making itself known. He poked at the fire and added more fuel. The heat and the lick of flames made him think of Kilgarrah, of the odd fever-like flight-dreams that visited Merlin on occasion. Of the blackened carcasses he'd found in the woods that had told him how, in one respect at least, Morgana was every inch a child of Uther.

" **Give them to the dragons** ," he heard himself saying.

"What was that?" asked Arthur.

Merlin shook his head. He shivered when he moved away from the fire; the night seemed a lot colder, all of a sudden. "Um. I just thought: you can make one or two of them a dragon-captain."

Though technically a promotion, it was generally viewed as the least desirable assignment for a Knight, and the most permanent one. Once a dragon accepted someone as their handler, as the captain who would fly them into battle, there was no going back. The Knight would be responsible for their dragon for the rest of the dragon's life. These men were often labeled as dragon-sympathizers, thought to be cursed with the bad luck associated with the beasts; it was whispered that the dragons infected the men with their savagery. 

But, well. Because no one wanted to be assigned to the dragons, it had often been used as a punishment, when Uther wanted someone out of sight but, for political reasons, could not banish them or strip them of their titles. This meant that the dragon-captains were often the callous, disreputable sort, tending towards cruelty. Merlin had witnessed, when he'd first arrived, some of the things the dragons did at the command of their handlers, and the things that were done _to_ the dragons by their own handlers. 

Morgana had been kind, in comparison.

Arthur was looking at him as if he'd sprouted a second head. "That is... actually not a bad idea. Yes." He stared into the middle distance, the fork on his hand drawing patterns on the mostly empty plate. "And this might change people's minds about dragons as well." 

Merlin started; he hadn't realized that it would occur to Arthur to think about the dragons. Or that he would care.

But, of course. This was _Arthur_.

Frustration was fading from the Prince's expression, though he still looked slightly pensive. "But who? Two will be better, to prevent speculation about this being some kind of punishment. Lessen it, anyway." He frowned at the stack of papers pushed to the edges of his desk. "Who is in charge of the Knights-of-the-Air now? Toclas, Lord Gerant's youngest son, used to be, but he was killed in the invasion."

"Ah, um." Merlin blinked. "Wait, how would I know?"

Arthur gave him a very pointed look. "Merlin. You've been visiting the covert every few days, at least, for as long as I've known you. How many years has it been? Do you really think something like this could have slipped my notice?"

Merlin swallowed a _Yes_ , refused to let his eyes flicker over to where the pile of laundry in the corner had just fluffed itself up in agitation. He squeaked out, "But you never said anything!"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Everyone has their little vices. Given a choice between a manservant who apparently has a need to regularly risk life and limb playing with dragons as if they are _pets_ , and one who drinks and gambles and whores his free time at the tavern - seriously, 'going to the tavern' is the _worst_ excuse I've ever heard, especially for someone who embarrasses himself after two cups of _wine_ -"

"- that was _one time_ \- "

"- I'd take you coming in stinking of dragon every now and then," Arthur finished. 

"Oh." Merlin bit his lip, thought _sod it_ , and took a gulp from Arthur's wine cup. "Thanks, I guess." Arthur was staring at his mouth. Merlin gave him a look of, _I was the one who carried that wine up here, Your Pratness, I can damn well drink some of it if I want to_. "I just. Um. I would have told you?"

"If you weren't worried about it reaching my father's ears, you mean?" Arthur finished drily. His gaze was still... somewhere slightly below Merlin's eyes. Merlin figured his face was probably turning blotchy and red, just from that little bit of wine, but Arthur didn't have to _stare_ so. Eventually, the Prince waved a dismissive hand. "No one's ever questioned me or caught you, it seems, all these years, so I'm not overly concerned about it. Besides, you've likely noticed that the Prince's manservant gets a lot of leeway."

In fact, Merlin _hadn't_ , but Gwen had said something similar before. She'd been quick to follow up, in her characteristically sweet way, that he wasn't to know, since he'd never been anything else and had no other basis for comparison.

"Probably because I have to put up with you," Merlin said with a grin. He ducked a spray of breadcrumbs.

"Now that we've established that you're secretly a brutish, seditious dragon-sympathizer," said Arthur, the corners of his lips twitching, "Tell me who is in charge of the Knights-of-the-Air."

"Um. No one?" 

"What do you mean, no one?"

Merlin looked up from trying to get crumbs out of his hair. "You - wait, you didn't know?"

"Know what?"

"I mean, I thought that was the point of the mountain of paper you slog through every day. You have a million messengers running all over the city at all hours."

" _Merlin._ "

"She killed them." Merlin swallowed. There had been more than one reason he'd stayed away from the covert for a while. He forced himself to meet Arthur's eyes. "Morgana. All the dragons who had handlers. She killed the dragons, then the Knights and the dragon-crews."

Arthur's eyes were wide. "Even the Knights who surrendered?"

"Leon said she didn't accept surrenders from the dragon-captains. She blasted the dragons out of the sky, and the immortal soldiers picked the men off one by one." Merlin looked away. 

_She'd killed the dragons first._ He knew that Arthur thought it a sensible tactic; the moment a dragon's handler was killed, a dragon became unmanageable, mindlessly violent. But Merlin was still grappling with the thought of it - a person of magic killing a _dragon_. He knew it was not just his inherited powers as a dragonlord; all the secret texts owned by Gaius, all the old stories, all the magic-users he'd ever spoken to, had said the same: to someone of the Old Religion, dragons felt like _kin_. 

But then, considering what she'd tried to do to Uther and Arthur, a little thing like that was clearly not going to dissuade Morgana.

"There are none left? Not even one?" Arthur's voice drew Merlin back to the present. Merlin shook his head. "I suppose this makes matters simpler."

"Who do you think you'll make a handler, then?" he asked.

"We'll dine together tomorrow evening, and I'll suggest it to them." Arthur quirked his eyebrow at Merlin in a way that conveyed he expected Merlin to be the one to organize the meal. "I have heard that views on dragons differ in other lands. Maybe we'll get volunteers who won't find the assignment too distasteful."


	3. Knights of the Air

Gwen gently leaned over and brushed back Merlin’s hair, before taking a seat next to his bed. She’d never had trouble thinking of things to say around him, so she started with, “Aithusa sends her love. She says the other dragons miss you. I was at market today and Maisie asked about you – people know your name, now, and they’re calling Aithusa the White Dragon of Camelot. I bet no one will throw vegetables at you if you’re ever put in the stocks again….”

  


  
**CHAPTER TWO: KNIGHTS OF THE AIR**   


Over dinner, Arthur detailed his proposal to make two of the Knights dragon-captains; for some reason, he ended with, "It was Merlin's idea, actually.”

The Knights were quiet awhile. But it was a thoughtful kind of quiet, not one of shock or offense, as if each man was giving the idea its due consideration. Merlin eyed the mostly-empty plates; not that he was eager to start the arduous process of collecting all the used dishes and getting them back to the kitchen, but his fingers were twitching with the need to do something. Arthur, who either had eyes on the back of his head or merely knew Merlin very, very well, rolled his shoulders back in a way that screamed, _stay right where you are, Merlin_.

The dinner had been a private one, with only Arthur and the usual crew of Lancelot, Gwaine, Leon, Elyan, and Percival, and thus Merlin was the only servant in attendance. 

Leon was the first to say, "I am willing, my Lord."

Arthur nodded. "Are you sure, Leon?"

"Yes," replied the Knight. Decision made, his expression suggested that he would fight a duel rather than be moved from it, as was his wont. "The dragons are Camelot's shield in the air as the Knights are her shield on land. It cannot be anything but an honour to be entrusted with such a duty."

They've talked about this, Merlin realized. And not just lately - there was a sense of understanding there, beyond any discussion that Arthur could have managed since Merlin had brought the idea to him.

A beat, and then, "I will be the other," said Percival.

This was clearly less expected; the whole table turned to look at him. Arthur repeated, "Are you sure, Percival?" and when the Knight nodded, said, "Then it has turned out as I had hoped. The two of you will be a credit to the ancient tradition," with perfect grace.

"A toast to our new dragon-captains!" cried Gwaine, raising his cup high.

To Merlin's surprise, Arthur beckoned him forward and, without actually looking at him, thrusted a cup of wine into his hands. Merlin grinned at the back of Arthur's head, catching Lancelot's amused look, and joined in the toast.

~*~

Leon took one look at the long, dark tunnel and said, "The dragons live _here_?"

"The beasts aren't picky, milord," said the nobleman who had accompanied them from the castle. It was completely untrue, and it wasn't as if the man could even know, having never expressed interest in dragons for as long as Merlin had seen him at court; Merlin had to restrain himself from making a comment to that effect. He wasn't sure why the man had to come with them. He suspected it was one of those _political_ things; he vaguely remembered the man as being part of the group who'd been giving Arthur trouble about his new Knights. Lord Argy-something. 

Percival knocked at the wall. "The stone seems solid enough. But surely the dragons need more space than this."

The covert was larger than it looked on the outside, the tunnels and caves burrowing deep into the hill and under it. But decades of neglect had left the stonework on the outside overgrown with weeds and wildflowers, and most of the inside dank and dark, large sections closed off or covered in rubble. Merlin always felt mildly chilled, despite all the hours he'd spent down there.

Percival absently ran a hand over the stone wall. They were close enough to the main entrance, still, for a decent measure of sunlight to filter in. Enough to see the lines and patterns carved into the rock, and the occasional dragon-related display. Percival seemed particularly interested in the oversized spear mounted on the wall.

There was a pause, then Leon said, "None of the old Knights-of-the-Air ever spoke of the covert." 

"They never came down here," Merlin said quietly. "Nobody did."

The two Knights nodded, but Lord Argy blatantly ignored him and grouched, "Where is the covert-master? I have many duties to attend to - if he keeps us waiting any longer, I shall have to have words with the Ki- with Prince Arthur."

Leon looked a breath away from glaring at Lord Argy outright. Merlin realized that the nobleman had spoken only to Leon since they left the citadel. Merlin was so used to being treated like he was invisible that he hadn't noticed Argy doing the same to Percival. Merlin counted Leon as one of Arthur's Knights, so he often forgot Leon had been a Knight for years. He'd been raised to Knighthood according to the old traditions and with King Uther’s blessing, which likely made him a 'proper' Knight in the eyes of Argy and his lot. 

Percival seemed to have grasped the situation and merely looked uncomfortable. Merlin met his eyes, and the two of them ended up trading befuddled and uneasy shrugs; a silent, mutual acknowledgment that this battlefield was best left to those who were better suited to it. Which, in this case, meant Leon. Fortunately, Otho chose to emerge at that moment, huffing and sweaty, out of the central passageway. Merlin took one whiff and knew that the covert-master had been down in the little niche next to his quarters, keeping his ale-barrel company.

Lord Argy muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath and took his leave with pointed brusqueness. If the man intended it to be a deliberate insult, it was sorely wasted: the covert-master merely looked relieved to have one less unfamiliar human in his domain, and likely forgot about Lord Argy the moment he was out of sight. He looked appraisingly at Leon and Percival. 

"Good Knights," he said nervously. "You need not have troubled yourselves to come here - if you had sent word, I would have brought a few beasts up to the clearing for your selection."

"Please, covert-master," Leon said with a respectful bow, "My name is Leon, and this is Percival. I'm afraid I do not have much experience with dragons, but I have many horses," if he noticed Otho's wince, he did not falter at it, "And - with no disrespect intended to you and your work - never have I entrusted my life to a creature whose care I did not have a hand in. I do not wish to hinder you in your duties, but I will not be like the Knights of old, who saw their dragons only when Camelot required defending."

Merlin suspected that, right now, Otho would have preferred the disinterest of those past Knights. 

Then Otho caught sight of Merlin, and visibly paled.

"This is Merlin," said Leon, motioning Merlin forward. "It has come to Prince Arthur's attention that Merlin has been sneaking into the covert to see the dragons." 

For a second, Merlin was worried that Otho was going to faint, or possibly have a seizure. Leon might have felt a similar alarm, for he quickly added, "Do not worry, he does not hold you culpable for the trespasses of a servant. In fact, he wishes to thank you for your patience and indulgence in training Merlin in the care of dragons. Merlin is to assist us until we can train up crews for the dragons."

("At least, this way, you have a legitimate reason to be at the covert. Enough of all this sneaking about," Arthur had said. He'd followed it with a frown. "I have no idea how you managed to get away with it for so many years, seeing as you do not have a stealthy bone in your body. I'll have to speak to the guards. Again.")

"Why did you keep coming here, Merlin?" Leon asked curiously, as Merlin led the way down to the holding cave. Otho had hurried on ahead, ostensibly to prepare the dragons he'd be showing Leon and Percival. Merlin suspected he would find time to imbibe a considerable dose of liquid courage as well.

"Arthur told you about that?"

"I was the one he asked to follow you, the first time," Leon admitted. "It was the most curious thing I'd seen. Occasionally we hear of drunkards and reckless young men sneaking into the covert as a test of courage. But there you were, calm as stone, entering a place even Knights do not venture into without the guidance of the covert-master. And I've seen you spooked by _horses_."

"Horses are evil." _I am a warlock and a dragonlord; dragons do not frighten me._ Merlin mustered up a sheepish smile. "I like dragons?" He shrugged, as if it were nothing. Leon did not look particularly convinced by that rousing explanation, though he did not pursue it further. Merlin caught him exchanging a look with Percival.

When they reached the holding chamber, Merlin was not surprised to see Elpis and Hespy among the four dragons Otho had picked out for Leon and Percival's consideration. Those two were the friendliest of the 'official' inhabitants of the covert, and also the youngest. The other two dragons were the next youngest, though Merlin blinked at seeing Decima. She was the calmest dragon he'd ever met, and seemed to dislike physical violence; which, in his mind, would make her poorly suited to being a Knight's dragon. But perhaps Otho had only included her to counteract Pliny, who was was the fourth in the group. He was radiating excess energy, and looked like he would have pounced on Merlin if not for his leash being fastened to one of the heavy iron rings lining the walls. 

Leon and Percival hesitated at the entrance of the spacious cave. Merlin saw them noting the rings on the wall, then eyeing the tall barricade along one side; deep gashes scored the surface, and the metal panels along the top were severely dented. The four dragons were clustered near the middle, with plenty of space around them - at their size, they were only a fraction of what the chamber could hold. Merlin thought that Kilgarrah could fit there comfortably twice over. 

And yet, each young dragon was still several tons of heavy muscle, sharp talons, and gleaming teeth. Merlin had witnessed all their hatchings, and a part of him still thought of them as affectionate, oft-sleepy dragonets the size of large lizards. He'd fed Pliny and Elpis their first meal of freshly butchered sheep. Yes, they all loomed over him now, the smallest at least three times the size of Arthur's largest warhorse, and Decima's talons were thicker than his wrist, but he could never feel truly threatened by them.

The Knights had no such familiarity, and likely possessed even less knowledge of dragons. They were wearing their chainmail, but Merlin had once witnessed a dragon from Mercia, driven to murderous rage by the death of its handler, tear through chainmail like it was wet parchment. To their credit, Leon and Percival exchanged a look, took synchronous deep breaths, and steadily approached the dragons.

"Ah," said Otho, once the two men drew near. "Sir Knights, these are the likeliest beasts under my care. I chose them for their temperament and their youth. It is well-known that the younger the dragon is when the pairing is done, the stronger the bond will be between dragon and handler." Gaius had mentioned once that it used to be standard practice for the handler to be present at the dragon's hatching, and would even name the dragons themselves. Merlin drifted to one side in order to better watch the proceedings. "This is Elpis, who is a Yellow Reaper, and that is Pliny, a Greyling. The blue-grey one is Decima, a Chequered Nettle, and the reddish one next to her is Hesperos, a cross between a Yellow Reaper and a Grey Copper. They're in a good mood today - I've never seen them so calm around strangers before."

Leon nodded and thanked Otho for the explanation. He looked consideringly over the dragons, and blinked when he saw that the dragons were gazing at him curiously in return. He glanced over his shoulder and gave Merlin a clear look of, _what happens next?_

Merlin could only shrug. He'd never witnessed a harnessing before; there hadn't been one since he arrived at Camelot. He suspected Uther hadn't authorized a new dragon-captain in a long time. Various skirmishes and misfortunes had winnowed the Knights-of-the-Air down to a bare handful by the time Morgause's immortal army struck. 

"What should we do now, covert-master?" asked Leon.

"Oh, begging your pardon-" Otho stuttered, distinctly flushed. Merlin wondered if he should have been keeping an eye on the old man's ale-barrel. "-you should get closer, sirs, let them get a good sniff of you. If you like the look of one, try to climb onto its back. If they let you, that's as good a choice as any."

Something about _as good a choice as any_ left Merlin feeling dissatisfied; a part of him had, perhaps, been expecting some grander ceremony. Percival, who'd thus far been especially quiet even for him, looked over and said, "You know these dragons, Merlin. Which do you think would suit me?"

Merlin's eyes widened in surprise. He was used to Arthur soliciting his thoughts in private, but he generally expected to be ignored by other people. He obligingly looked between Percival and the four dragons, mentally comparing all that he knew of them. Unexpectedly, the name that popped out of his mouth was, "Decima."

Percival only nodded, looking exceedingly sombre, and faced the Chequered Nettle. There was a strange heaviness in the way he moved, a coiled tension that, in any other man, Merlin might have read as _fear_ ; only, this was _Percival_ , and he'd seen the Knight face down an attacking wyvern with no more than faintly bemused air. Percival took a few more deep breaths and slowly began to approach the dragon. 

Decima watched him get closer without so much as a twitch of her barbed tail, her eyes curious but also oddly peaceful. It looked almost like _she_ was the one waiting for a nervous, woodland creature to approach her. Not in the anticipatory way of a predator regarding its prey, but more like a mother watching her offspring's first steps. A remarkable feat, since Decima was not even a year old.

Merlin felt glad for his choice, then, despite his initial reservations about Decima; whatever Percival saw in the dragon's manner seemed to ease his fears, and by the time he gently laid his hand on the dragon's neck, there was no hesitation at all in his movements. Decima regarded him intently the entire time.

Finally, she looked directly at Merlin; as if she was, for some reason, asking for permission, or perhaps approval. It brought to mind Percival's question - _you know them better than I_. He could not imagine why his opinion mattered, but he nodded wholeheartedly. Decima seemed to relax, then, her head lowering and tentatively nudging at Percival's shoulder. 

Merlin shifted his attention to Leon and found the Knight gazing at him with a thoughtful expression. The Knight had not moved any closer to the remaining three dragons. Elpis and Hespy were playfully batting each other with their wings, and Pliny was nosing curiously at the chain attached to his leash; only their regular glances at Leon indicated that they hadn't entirely forgotten the strange new human in their midst.

"Merlin?" Leon called softly. He gestured helplessly at the dragons. 

Feeling strangely shy, Merlin walked over to them, clearing his throat meaningfully when he passed Pliny. Otho had disappeared at some point. Pliny looked up excitedly at Merlin, though he didn't let go of the chain; he'd somehow managed to wind it around his tail.

Merlin considered Leon. The Knight was all but Arthur's second-in-command outside of the castle walls; at court, even nobles who outranked Leon took care to treat him with respect. In some ways, Merlin had known him the longest of all the Knights, though it was only in recent years, after repeatedly proving himself in the field, that the man had come to prominence. Merlin regretted not knowing him better, now. If pressed, he would have described Leon as brave, and just, and stupidly loyal to Arthur - only, they _all_ were, Arthur's Knights, so Merlin tried to think of the qualities that set Leon apart from the others.

Pliny, he dismissed from the start. The energetic Greyling might benefit from Leon's steadiness, but trying to keep the dragon well-behaved would likely drive Leon to distraction, and be a futile effort besides. Elpis was shy and easily nervous, which might suit Leon's care-taking tendencies. Hespy was stubborn, single-minded, with a bit of a temper; Merlin had the amusing thought that Leon would probably find him easy to manage after dealing with Arthur for years. 

"Either Elpis or Hespy will do you well, I think," Merlin said. He cast a look over at Pliny; the young dragon, clearly understanding that his attention was no longer required, laid down and dedicated himself to gnawing on his leash-chain. 

The other two dragons allowed Leon to pet them, and then to climb onto their backs. Merlin could see that they, too, were taking their own measure of the Knight. Leon made a dissatisfied noise after he'd circled and inspected both dragons. "I don't know what I'm doing, Merlin," he admitted quietly. "I read the books and scrolls that Gaius gave me, but it would be like reading a book on horses and expecting to be able to buy good horseflesh after only one glance at the real thing. And horses are difficult enough. Dragons - this is for _life_. An ill choice will affect not only the dragon's life, and mine, but also Camelot, and my duty to her."

Merlin stared at him.

"What?" asked Leon.

"Nothing. It's... you're the only dragon-captain who has ever spared a thought for the _dragon_ ," said Merlin. He turned to the two dragons. "Elpis? Hespy?"

The dragons looked at him, and then at each other. A silent, complicated exchange took place. At the end of it, Hespy looked at them and clearly _bowed_ \- which, huh, Merlin hadn't known dragons could do- then stepped back, leaving Elpis shifting nervously in front of the two men. It was as clear a message as any. Leon looked startled, glancing repeatedly between the two dragons, but he seemed to shake himself back into sense and approached the Yellow Reaper, stroking her snout as she shyly sniffed at him. 

~*~

There was a knock on his door. Merlin quickly slid the book he was reading under his bed, only belatedly remembering that it was a treatise on weather effects on farming that Arthur had thrown at him and, therefore, not exactly illicit material. Still, he reasoned that Gaius would be overjoyed to see him exercising too much cautious rather than too little. "Come in!"

It was Gwen. She grinned at him in a way that he didn't entirely like. Also, she had her sewing basket under one arm.

"I'm here to take your measurements!" she announced.

Merlin scrambled off his bed. "Oh, no. I told Arthur that if he tries to make me my very own manservant's livery, he will have to put it on my cold, dead body himself."

She laughed. "It's not for Arthur - well, technically it _is_ \- but it's not what you're thinking. Merlin, _hold still_."

"I have a pillow and I'm not afraid to use it!"

She neatly batted away his swing. "It's for your _harness_."

Merlin blinked. "Wait. Why am I getting a harness? Shouldn't this be for Leon and Percival?"

"I've already taken theirs," said Gwen. "All right, this wasn't really Arthur's idea - it was mine. I think you should get your own harness, Merlin."

"Why?"

She smiled at him. "How many times have I helped you sneak in and out of the citadel to visit the covert? I know how much you love dragons. This is... just in case."

Merlin tried to follow her train of thought, and ended up frowning. "Gwen, it is against the law for me to ride someone else's dragon, even if Leon or Percival allow me to."

Gwen made an exasperated sigh. "No, Merlin. I meant, maybe, one day - you might get a dragon of your very own?"

He looked at his lap. "Only a Knight gets to harness a dragon, Gwen. Can you see _me_ being a Knight?"

"Well, only a nobleman is supposed to become a Knight," Gwen blithely pointed out. "And I can't really think of any man more noble than you-"

Merlin felt his face warm, and quickly interjected, "Except for Arthur, you mean."

Now it was Gwen's turn to blush. "Well, _you_ are the one who has to put up with him, which obviously gives you an edge. And, speaking of," she waited for him to meet her eyes again, and said, despite clearly being embarrassed by it, "Is it not also said, that only noblewomen are courted by the Prince? Things are _changing_ , Merlin." She grabbed his hand. "I want you to have a harness, and to get used to it, and to learn as much as you can about being a dragon-captain. Please. For me?"

He sighed. "It's really unfair when you make that face at me. All right, fine." He smirked, and quickly kissed the back of her hand. "My Lady."

The pillow caught him right in the face and sent him tumbling off the bed.

~*~

Merlin returned to the covert the next day, and was surprised to find Percival and Leon already there. He came upon them in the holding chamber. Otho was in the middle of explaining that tradition dictated they wait until dragon and handler had been paired for at least a month before moving the dragon up to the more spacious ground-level cells. 

"They are hardly going to run rampant, Otho," said Merlin. "Especially those two. They were hatched and raised here; the covert is all they know."

"They are _dragons_ , boy," sniffed the old man, "Give them a chance and they'll be out terrorizing villages all over the country, and then who'll be up before the King?"

Otho was clearly uncomfortable at being pressed by two Knights, however, and eventually agreed to move the dragons once their new harnesses were complete, with the promise that Leon and Percival would take full responsibility if their dragons ran amok. Leon watched the covert-master hurry away with a perplexed frown. "For someone who takes care of dragons, he doesn't seem particularly fond of them."

Merlin, conscious of the deep chambers and secret tunnels far below their feet, of the fact that the last official Camelot Greyling line had actually died out three generations ago, said only, "He does care. But the years have made him slow to trust. He knows his job well - the King would not have kept him on it for so long, if he didn't." It was the closest he could come to saying: think of what Uther would do, if he thought Otho too attached to his charges. From Leon's expression, the Knight understood.

Otho came back with Elpis. She visibly perked up at seeing Leon, and nearly tugged the leash of her harness right out of Otho's hand when she hurried forward to meet her handler. She hesitated right before reaching him. Leon smiled at her warmly and held up his hands, palm out, and she shyly nuzzled him.

  


Merlin beamed. He noticed that Otho was staring at the pair. He cleared his throat, said, "I'll go and fetch Decima," and left the holding chamber before the covert-master could object.

Decima, by virtue of her size, would be in one of the largest caves on this level. The passageways were dark - Otho tended to forget about little details like torches, so the few that were still lit were spaced far apart - but Merlin had explored the covert enough to know his way around without needing to conjure some light. He found the cave in question and nearly tripped over a dragon sleeping right by the entrance. 

"Sorry, Junius," he said quietly, identifying the old Anglewing by the tail that lashed gently against his shins in rebuke. 

A deep, guttural voice grumbled from the floor. "You are no hatchling, Merlin, to be blundering about without looking at what is in your path."

"Sorry," he repeated. "I'm here for Decima."

"My captain is here?" came from the other end of the cave. There was a sound of heavy bodies shifting aside - or _being_ shifted aside, if the handful of indignant squawks were any indication - and then Decima's head was poking out of the cave, sniffing at the air around Merlin. "He is! Merlin, you have brought my captain!"

Merlin chuckled. "Even better - he was already here when I arrived." The rest of Decima emerged from the gloom of the cave. He patted her neck. "See, I told you these men are not like the old handlers."

"Hmmph," said Junius. It sounded as if he was shifting away from the door. Merlin wondered how many dragons were sleeping in the cave; it was impossible to see anything in the total absence of light within, but he thought he could hear the subtle shift and breath of at least half a dozen bodies. Perhaps it was the covert's entire complement - the dragons that were supposed to be there, anyway. There were plenty of other caves, but Merlin knew that the dragons preferred to sleep in a massive pile, especially when the damp chill from the outside permeated the passages. 

"I am sure you are right, Merlin," said Decima as they made their way back up to the holding chamber. "The old dragons find it hard to believe so, but Elpis and I quite like ours, and Hespy and Pliny agree that they don't seem at all as bad as the stories say." They would, Merlin thought; all four were too young to have had much, if any, interaction with the old handlers or their dragons. 

"You think you will get along with Percival, then?" he asked.

She brightened at the mention of the Knight. "I wasn't sure, at first, but now I think I will. It is so very interesting to meet other humans. Cesan said that you are all the same, that you only want to hurt us. But there's you, and Otho, and now Percival and Elpis' Leon, so I think he's just met the bad ones. Not all dragons are nice, either."

"That's g- wait, who's Cesan?" asked Merlin.

"Oh, that new Bright Copper," she answered. Merlin wracked his brain until he remembered Otho mentioning the feral he'd found outside the covert. He'd glimpsed the dragon on his previous visit down below, but instinct had told him to stay away until the Bright Copper had gotten used to his new surroundings.

"I haven't really spoken to him yet," he said. "Perhaps he will change his mind after he's gotten to know some of us better."

"Yes, just so," agreed Decima. She sounded distracted - they were almost to the holding chamber. 

Percival evidenced some of his hesitancy from the day before. Decima, in contrast, looked more assured, and nudged him affectionately when his hand hesitated on its way to her head. He seemed to release a long breath, his expression unreadable; nevertheless, he stroked her neck with as much gentleness and care as Leon was showing Elpis.

~*~

Otho looked distinctly unhappy when the Knights showed no sign of leaving after an hour. He made a few tentative hints in that direction, until Leon said, "Prince Arthur has given us no other task this week but to learn about dragons and develop a familiarity with the ones we've harnessed."

The covert-master even entreated Merlin, discreetly guiding him behind the barricade and out of the dragons' hearing. "I will need to bring up the second group for their feeding, Merlin. You have to make them leave. Can't you come up with some excuse or pretend that they're required in the citadel?"

"They will surely find out that I lied, Master Otho, and Prince Arthur will not be pleased." Merlin tilted his head in thought. "If you're worried about them seeing the f-"

"Sshhh!"

"Sorry, the you-know-whats, I really don't think they will. They're still learning to tell one breed from another," said Merlin, feeling more sure of the idea as he spoke. "Besides, there isn't anything to distinguish the you-know-whats from the rest of the lot. Unless they know exactly how many dragons are supposed to be here - and even _I_ don't know that - they won't be able to tell."

"I would like to watch a feeding," said Leon, when Merlin informed the Knights of what was about to take place. Otho had stomped off to gather the second group of the day, grumbling all the while.

"Decima and Elpis are usually in the third and seventh group - young dragons get two feedings until they mature - but they can come along now instead of in the next batch." Merlin had suggested it, and pointed out to Otho that the Knights would have eyes only for their own dragons, and would not pay as much attention to the rest of the group. "Master Otho says that you can determine when your dragon eats, in order to work around the duties you will be assigned."

Merlin took the two Knights and their two dragons up to the main level, into the central passageway that led to the main entrance of the covert. Instead of going out that way, however, he went into a branching passageway that sloped downwards and, from there, into a narrower tunnel that cut a straight line out of the covert-hill. 

Leon wordlessly ran a hand over the lines and shapes carved into the stone walls. There was hardly any light to see by, until they got close enough to the outside for sunlight to bounce into the tunnel. Merlin thought that the ones who had built the covert would not have bothered to decorate the tunnel so elaborately if most of it couldn't be seen, yet there were no places or gaps along the wall where torches might be installed. Perhaps former inhabitants had had alternative ways of illuminating the covert

They emerged into a narrow valley.

"Oh," breathed Leon, looking up at the steep walls that rose up on either side of them; packed dirt covered by weeds and wildflowers and errant tree roots where the rough, grey rock wasn't showing through. The ground was bare dirt in the middle and thick with fallen leaves along the sides; here and there lay animal bones, weathered and in many pieces. The valley opened up a little towards the other end, resembling more of a bowl. Merlin had always thought it looked as if someone with a shovel had taken a good scoop out of the ground.

"This is the Dragon's Claw?" asked Percival.

"Yes," answered Merlin with a grin, "That place of terror and death which the people are warned never to go near. Not that there isn't a good reason - if you tried to get into this valley from up above, you'll slip and fall and break your neck. Being spotted by one of the dragons would be _lucky_ for you, as they would then go and fetch Master Otho."

"My mother used to talk about throwing me in here for the dragons to eat me whenever I was misbehaving," chuckled Leon, the only one of the three of them who'd grown up in Camelot. 

Percival cleared his throat. "You're sure that the dragons won't eat people, then?" 

Twin snorts came from the dragons behind them. Percival sent Decima an apologetic look. Merlin resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "No dragon I know would, any more than you would eat another man."

A rumbling noise came from the tunnel they'd come out of, growing louder by the second. Merlin said, "That must be Master Otho and the rest of the batch. Come on, we can go up there."

He led the Knights partway through the valley and up a half-hidden set of stairs cut into the rock, which brought them to an outcropping where they might watch the feeding. The steps were slippery; it must have rained briefly while they were in the covert, and thick grey clouds lingered as if contemplating another round. Decima and Elpis waited patiently near the opening into the covert. After several minutes, a handful of dragons spilled out, an unexpected splash of colour in the grey weather: Junius with his distinctive wings, two Malachite Reapers named Laise and Sorcha, Terty the old Yellow Reaper, and Ciaran, a Greyling. 

"Is it dangerous to have a lot of dragons here together?" asked Leon.

"No?" said Merlin, puzzled.

"I'm just wondering," said Leon, gesturing at the group of dragons, "Why they are fed in batches, then."

"It's more practical, that way." Merlin nodded towards the bowl-end. "Once, when the covert had a large number of ground-crew to manage everything, it was possible to feed all the dragons at once, and a harnessed dragon just returning from duty could be fed at any hour. Now, because there's only Master Otho, it's a lot more manageable to have small groups feeding at one time, spread out over the day." Easier, also, to ration the livestock allocated to the covert so that the ferals got to eat as well. "And this way, the herders don't have to bring a large number of their animals here all at once."

The dragons were passing by below them. Otho walked alongside the group, then veered off towards a wide gate on one side of the bowl-end. He spoke to someone on the other side of the gate - "That's Old Linas, his father was the herdmaster back in the day, and he's been bringing livestock to the covert all his life. I'm not sure he's even getting pay from the royal coffers anymore, but he's here every day, and he's been teaching his son to do it."

"I heard that the King once seriously considered doing away with the covert," said Leon, his voice hushed. "Because it is such a large expense. But he dropped the idea, suddenly, and afterwards ignored petitions from other noblemen requesting the same."

Merlin blinked, surprised. "Perhaps he knew that, as long as all the neighbouring kingdoms used dragons, he would always need them at hand." It felt like a weak explanation, however. And Uther had certainly done his best to ignore the existence of the covert.

Why had Uther kept the covert around? He'd campaigned hard to present the dragon as a violent, dangerous beast, prone to eating people unless they were harnessed (Percival's question had been regrettably unsurprising), with deep ties to magic and the Old Religion (this, at least, was true). _Dragon-sympathizer_ was a mean insult, carrying implications of involvement with sorcery. 

The clanking of the gate drew Merlin's attention back to the present. Otho was using a long stick to swing the gate open, being careful to stand on the side opposite from where the cow trundled out. The cow moaned low, then started running; a flash of wings, and Junius had snatched it off the ground with the smooth efficiency of an expert flier. He landed in the bowl-end and began to eat. 

"That's Junius," said Merlin. "He's an Anglewing, and one of the oldest dragons in the covert. Dragon precedent usually follows size; Decima will probably be the first to eat once she reaches her full growth."

Decima was the next to get her cow. She did not possess Junius' speed or manoeuvrability. Instead of snatching the cow right away, she flew over it and swung her tail. Two of the spikes cut clean across the cow's throat; it made a strangled noise and crumpled to the ground.

"That was quite a neat kill," commented Leon, tone admiring. Merlin snuck a glance at Percival. The unreadable look was back on his face, but he hummed in agreement, and crossed his ridiculously muscled arms, a hint of pride settling into his stance. 

"Do not mention it to Arthur - next thing we know, he'll want to bring one of them along on his hunts," said Merlin.

Leon looked intrigued, but Percival huffed, “That would be cheating!"

"I did not realize that they are intelligent," said Leon, much later, when Merlin was showing him and Percival the level where harnessed dragons were housed. Otho had reappeared, and they'd left Elpis and Decima with him so he could take their measurements for the various harnesses each dragon would need.

"Most people don't," Merlin reassured him. Fresher air told him that they were higher than ground level, now, and he led them to the section of caves closest to the main entrance. "Your dragons will get a cell each, up here. The standard fare is two cows a day, but if you speak with Otho, you can substitute a cow for a few pigs or sheep, for variety."

Percival frowned at the line of cells. "Why keep the dragons below when these are all empty?"

It was Leon who answered, in a subdued voice, "It is far easier to reach the entrance into the covert from here, and none of the cells have bars or restraints; only dragons with handlers are allowed to live on this level because they would never leave without their handlers. So says the law." He ducked into the nearest cell, and Merlin and Percival followed. Each cell was a cave of modest size, bare but dry and surprisingly warm. When in use, it would be lined with straw, and a water trough added to one side. 

Merlin took in their expressions and said, with forced lightness, "You should have seen the place when I first arrived."

All right, that did not exactly improve matters. "Merlin," said Percival, "How often are we allowed to visit our dragons?"

"As often as you like," answered Merlin, blinking. "The handler has the final word when it comes to their dragon."

"I got the impression that our presence here is not entirely welcome," Percival pressed on with characteristic bluntness.

"Not unwelcome," Merlin said. "Just... unexpected, as the old handlers never came here."

"Because it was shameful," said Leon. "Being made a dragon-handler was a mark of disgrace. The books say that it was different, once." He looked at his hands; Merlin remembered how Leon had sensed Elpis' shyness and petted her until the nervous tension melted from her sleek neck. Leon added, much more quietly, "I do not know how this can be shameful."

Percival grunted in agreement. He was never the most talkative of the Knights, but he'd been particularly silent the whole day; Merlin thought that there might be something else going on there, below the surface, but he had no idea how to ask. Perhaps Percival would tell Gwaine - those two seemed to get along remarkably well.

~*~

"I see that you haven't been eaten or ripped apart from limb to limb," Gwaine greeted them cheerfully at the main gate.

"Sorry to disappoint," said Leon dryly. "I'm going to wash up. If you'll excuse me."

Gwaine let out a grunt of acknowledgment, but he was staring at Percival. Percival seemed to register that Leon was walking away, and rose out of his contemplative silence enough to mumble something about meeting them for dinner, and then he, too, was off, moving briskly to the section of the citadel where the Knights were quartered.

Merlin and Gwaine watched him. When a soft, appreciative noise slipped out of Gwaine, Merlin had no compunctions about elbowing him in the side.

"What?" sputtered Gwaine. "The view is not bad coming or going, 's all I'm saying."

~*~

The harness _chafed_. 

"What are you doing that odd dance for, Merlin?" murmured Elpis. 

"This is _uncomfortable_ ," he answered distractedly, trying to adjust the assortment of leather straps and metal buckles around his waist and thighs.

"You should try wearing a full suit of armour," Leon's voice drifted in from the outer passageway, right before the man himself walked in. Oh, right, Merlin ought to get used to not being alone when he was in the covert now. He enjoyed talking to the dragons, but like most things to do with his magic, it was damn inconvenient when there were other people around. He had a backup plan that consisted of claiming he was hearing voices and blaming it on Arthur for one too many hits in the head. 

"The garb for dragon-captains should be very comfortable in comparison, then," said Merlin, as if he'd intended to speak to Leon all along.

"I hope so, from what I've seen of it." Leon came around Elpis, carefully testing and adjusting every inch of her new harness. The Knight's personal harness was already cinched around his waist and legs. It was made of thick, sturdy leather, well-stitched, and the assembly looked a great deal neater than Merlin's. Leon wore it on top of a thick shirt and a sturdy pair of breeches, evidently deciding to eschew the chainmail, likely due to the weight it added. "Gwen got a look at the old livery and insisted on making further adjustments." Leon stepped back and frowned at his dragon's harness. "Does that look correct to you?"

Merlin considered the Knight's handiwork. "I think so? At least, it's close to what I remember the harness looking like in the past. But why don't you ask Elpis?"

Leon blinked, then looked up at his dragon, who'd been standing patiently still all this time. He was visibly uncertain, but took Merlin's suggestion anyway and asked, "Elpis, does the harness feel all right to you?"

She tilted her head quizzically. It occurred to Merlin that he'd been assuming, all this while, that dragons could understand humans other than Merlin, but he'd never actually asked for sure. Kilgarrah could, but Great Dragons seemed to be the exception to most rules among their kind. 

Then Elpis seemed to gather herself, opened her wings, and did a full-body shake, stopping just short of taking off. Leon, Merlin was pleased to see, did not even take a step back, though the force of her efforts sent up a great cloud of dust. Elpis settled back down and looked pointedly at her tail. 

"I think I saw it. It's too loose there?" asked Leon.

Elpis nodded.

While Leon went to do something complicated to the part of the harness that wrapped around the base of her tail, Merlin looked over to the far side of the chamber and saw Percival and Decima copying what Elpis had done, the dragon shaking to check the fit of the harness. 

The harness consisted of a thick central band around the dragon’s middle, behind the forelegs, and two bands that ran along their sides, from the chest to the rear legs and looping under their tails. Smaller loops and straps between these kept the harness from shifting about, and there were buckles interspersed throughout to enable adjustment. Merlin was glad to leave the task of putting them on the dragons to the Knights; he had no doubt that any attempt by him would only result in a hopeless tangle.

~*~

It was a little odd to be making regular reports to Arthur about the progress of the new dragon-handlers. Merlin was sure that Leon and Percival made their own reports, but it made sense for Arthur to ask for Merlin's observations, especially with his greater experience and (slightly) more impartial standpoint. 

"We're going to try actual flight tomorrow," Merlin finished. "Oh, and apparently Gwen's holding Leon's new livery hostage."

Arthur smirked at that. "I suspect getting Leon into a dress has, in a somewhat convoluted way, given her the impression that she has license to tinker with the rest of his clothing. I would be jealous, but in this case, better him than me. I'm sure she has developed ideas about Camelot livery in general, and I will hear about them soon enough."

It was not often, anymore, that Merlin forgot his friends were romantically involved, and then a reminder would inevitably pop up and startle him for a few seconds. He was happy for them- he was! - it was only that he'd gotten used to Arthur running away from the prospect of marriage, so seeing him actively pursue it was, sometimes, a disorienting - but nice! - change.

"You should come along and watch tomorrow," Merlin suggested.

"Too busy," Arthur said in a brusque and offhand manner, which he usually did when he was trying to cover up something and, thus, only made Merlin pay even more attention. "Certain Knights have requested a few hours off, however, so I suspect you'll have an audience in any case."

~*~

"I am not letting Leon get hurt in any way!" protested Elpis, right when Merlin entered the communal cave. 

"It's your imprisonment," drawled a Bright Copper. There was a distinct rasp to his voice. His bright eyes landed on Merlin, and he pointedly climbed to his feet. "It suddenly began to smell in here. I'll be next door if any of you feel like talking sense."

"Come, Cesan," said Laise, who was being used as a pillow by Hespy and Pliny. "It's Merlin. He is-"

"I know who he is," said Cesan coldly. He turned and left through a tunnel that connected to a neighbouring cave.

There was a pause, and then Elpis looked excitedly at Merlin. "Will you be there for the flying?"

Merlin smiled. "I wouldn't miss it."

~*~

"So these are your wee beasties!" exclaimed Gwaine when he emerged from the copse of trees bordering the covert. 

There clearing in front of the covert had been a long oval of smooth stone tiles, once, but now was overgrown with weeds, with the surrounding forest was gradually moving in. Still, it was large enough to hold two young dragons, their handlers, and a gaggle of humans. 

Decima and Elpis blinked at Gwaine. To Merlin's surprise, the Knight walked right up to them, well within range of their talons, and stopped exactly where they would be able to get a good whiff of his scent without feeling threatened by his proximity. Merlin glanced at Elyan and Leon, who looked similarly startled, then to Lancelot and Percival, who did not. 

The dragons, of course, didn't know any different. After a minute, Gwaine held out a hand and asked, "May I?" and the two dragons obligingly lowered their heads to be petted.

"You never told us you're familiar with dragons," said Elyan.

"Well, I'm no expert," said Gwaine, tossing them all a grin over his shoulder. "Let's just say that there _are_ places that do things a bit differently from Camelot."

Leon was to go first. He prepared to climb aboard Elpis. To the men's collective surprise, the young dragon held out a hand, palm open; Leon tilted his head a little but stepped unquestioningly onto the dragon's palm. He did not look at all perturbed by her sharp talons. She raised her hand a little, and Leon was able to clamber onto the spot where her neck met her shoulder. Merlin heard the distinctive _click-click_ of his carabiners locking into place.

The rest of them backed away, including Percival and Decima. Elpis crouched slightly, muscles visibly tensing. Merlin couldn't hear Leon's spoken command; those large wings drew back, swept forward, and Elpis used her legs to launch herself into the air-

\- Merlin's face was being slapped by loose leaves and a twig, and Gwaine was cheering loudly, and _success_ , Elpis was in the air, an awestruck Leon partially hidden by her neck, and she was climbing steadily, flapping her wings hard to gain height.

The same process seemed to go much faster with Percival and Decima. All of them cheered when both dragons were in the air. Merlin was not the least bit surprised to see Elyan pass several coins to Gwaine. 

Gwaine saw him looking and shrugged. "What? I knew the dragons weren't going to let them fall."

"This means that it's official, right?" asked Elyan. "That the harnessing was successful?"

Gwaine nodded. "A dragon will let only its handler ride it. Therefore, if Leon and Percival are able to fly them, the beasts have bonded with them."

Merlin frowned but said nothing. 

Apparently Lancelot noticed, because he drifted to Merlin's side and said quietly, "Is it not true, Merlin?"

"Not really," Merlin admitted. He thought of all the times he'd ridden on Kilgarrah. The old dragon was, perhaps, invested in him achieving his great destiny, but he doubted the dragon felt in any way 'bonded' to him. The bond was supposed to work both ways, in any case, and Merlin's feelings towards Kilgarrah were definitely mixed. 

Then again, it might be yet another exception, on account of Kilgarrah being a Great Dragon.

"What happens if the beasts don't accept the Knights they've been paired with?" asked Lancelot softly. 

"What do you think?" replied Merlin. He was unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. 

("It is not that I would not have liked Leon regardless," Elpis had said, the night before, "For he is brave and honest and good-hearted. It just would have been nice to have been able to _choose_ , really choose, instead of hoping for a decent sort and being grateful when our Knight is kind to us.")

Dragons who rejected their handlers were viewed as no better than ferals. Better to be rid of them than let their reticence spoil the breeding stock.

After a long pause, Lancelot said, "That's not fair at all."

"No," said Merlin. "No, it's not."

~*~

The marketplace was a chaotic sprawl of stalls and wares and loud shouting. It seemed twice as crowded now with all the refugees from the countryside; most were trying to sell off their meagre wares in exchange for food, but there were also those who were trying to replace essential items that they hadn't been able to carry to Camelot. Merlin was darting between stalls, running errands for Gaius, when his ears picked up the word 'dragon' and he tried to move closer to a woman who was in the middle of recounting a story to a rapt audience. 

"...and my Maisie was out of her mind, Trin practically had to sit on her to keep her from running out, then she breaks free and runs out the door and o' course the rest o' us follow, and what did we see but two of the Prince's Knights running up the street wi' the little ones-"

"Which ones?" asked a young woman excitedly, her expression the sort that Merlin had learned to dread, especially if it appeared in the vicinity of Arthur.

"One was that big one, more like a mountain than a man," answered the earnest story-teller.

"Sir Percival," sighed a girl who still wore her childhood ribbons.

"The other's the brother of Guinevere, him whom they call cunning and quick and kind of heart."

"Sir Elyan!" squeaked a third, a woman Merlin was sure he frequently saw up in the citadel.

"So they saved your granddaughter?" asked a boy.

"Yes, but that is not all that happened!" The woman rubbed her hands and beamed at them all. "As I was sayin', the brave Knights were running towards us, the wee ones clutched tight in their arms. I'd seen all the guards and the other Knights carrying torches, to ward off the death-spirits, but these two must have sacrificed theirs to carry the children. Each screech of the wind seemed like a spirit come to reap the heat of our blood. And then, when the brave Knights were but moments away from our door, they halted and threw themselves down to the ground, protecting the children with their bodies - one of the spirits had flown down the road from the other way, and they barely escaped its deathly touch."

Merlin wasn't even bothering to be interested in the vegetables on display in front of him (turnips, really?); the audience had grown bigger over the course of the woman's tale, and she was clearly enjoying the attention. "The spirit came back, screaming for vengeance, and two more descended from the sky. Our gallant heroes were trapped. Trin tried to go towards them, but they told him to stay back. The spirits circled their prey, knowing that there was no escape. Little Lors began cryin', we could hear him, and his mama was shoutin', but we all knew that we couldn't reach them before the spirits did, even if there was something we could do to fend off the spirits."

The story-teller paused, letting the suspense build. She was good, Merlin thought; doubtless there were some embellishments, but he'd heard a brief account of Percival and Elyan's adventure, and her story matched what he'd learned. 

Finally, the woman straightened, eyes widening dramatically and her arms making a large gesture. "Suddenly - there was a great noise from the sky! At first we thought it was even more spirits, and we were all doomed, but a great shadow crossed the moon's light, and the roar we heard was not that of a spirit's. In the next moment - a dragon landed on the street!" There were loud gasps. "Yes, a dragon! And a big one, too. Its teeth were the size of knives, its claws that can rip into a horse with one swipe, and its tail had deadly spikes. Naturally, we were afraid, but then Trin said to me, 'Look, Ma, the spirits are afraid of the dragon!' which, I don't mind saying, are words I've never expected to hear. But my boy was right - the spirits hissed and flew around but didn't go near the dragon. Maisie thinks it's something to do with, you know, where they say dragons come from, and I won't be sayin' it outright if you don't mind.

"The spirits fly off, and now the lot of us were wondering if the dragon was gonna go after us for a bit of a snack. And then Sir Percival and Sir Elyan came out - walked right under the dragon, if you can believe it - and hands us our little ones. Turns out that the dragon belongs to Sir Percival. I'd heard that they'd made new dragon-captains, which I didn't think I'd see again in my day." Her expression conveyed that she'd really meant 'while Uther remains King'. "So the dragon was tame. It sat there quietly while the Knights made sure we had everything we needed. Its wings had knocked a bit of the roof off, but we says to the Knights, that's a small price for getting the children back, though if they could see to it that the beast didn't eat anyone we'd appreciate it. Sir Percival said that the dragon's name is Decima and she'd never eat people, but of course he would say that."

"I bet he would make more than a mouthful even for a dragon," said one of the women, which prompted a round of giggling. Merlin took this as his cue to drift off.

He wondered how long it had been since most people in Camelot had seen a dragon as anything more than an old terror to frighten children at bedtime.

 

~*~

_"Of course. Sir Lancelot. The bravest and most noble of them all."  
"I'm not sure that's true."  
"We shall see."_

 

He wanted to stay by the pyre awhile, to stand vigil over the fire until he could no longer see the look on Lancelot's face right before he stepped into that terrible darkness where the world had been sliced open. But in the end he found himself one of the first to leave; the weight of Gwen's grief ate up all the air, and he wondered if it'd been something he'd said, he should have been paying more attention while confronting the Cailleach.

He was not surprised to be dismissed for the night. He considered heading for his room and, subsequently, his bed, but his feet took him out the gates and along the familiar downhill path. The cool underground air felt like a relief, and he filled his lungs full of it. The tang of sulphur and other dragon-related scents grew stronger as he went deeper into the covert, but he could still smell the smoke, as if it had seeped into his hair and skin and heart.

He encountered Otho at some point. For a man who seemed continually drunk, the covert-master possessed hearing as good as a dragon's. Perhaps he read something in Merlin's face, because he said nothing and disappeared back into the darkness. Merlin blinked after him and continue on walking. 

He paused outside the largest cave. There was just enough torchlight in the outer corridor for him to make out the outline of Junius' distinctive wings. He heard the quiet rasp of scales sliding over scales, only larger than any snake could be. 

"Emrys," the old dragon greeted him sleepily.

"I can't get the taste of ashes out of my mouth," he said numbly.

Merlin had worried that he would never be able to stand in the dark again without expecting the spirits of the dead to swoop in with their deadly touch. But he remembered how Decima and Elpis kept the spirits away, how Kilgarrah had outright destroyed them. Dragons meant _safety_. And this darkness before him, warm and familiar, was rumbling full of them. 

"Fire is comforting to us," Junius eventually said. The sound of more bodies shifting. A soft unfurling of a wing, like an invitation. "You are always welcome here, young dragonlord."

Merlin stumbled forwards, grateful, and tucked himself into the first space he found. Scales and wing whispered, and he felt the pile of warm, heavy bodies curl, protective, around him as he fell asleep.


	4. Endings and Beginnings

Gaius’ hands moved steadily over Merlin’s forehead, his eyes, his neck, performing checks he’d done a thousand times before. It never got easier, he reflected, which was unfortunate considering the sheer number of times Merlin had ended up in his care for one reason or another. 

“There are days when I truly do not know what to do with you,” he softly scolded the young man, who was all the sons and daughters that Gaius would never have.

He hated the cases where he could do nothing to help. 

He hoped Arthur figured out the cure soon.

  


  
**CHAPTER THREE: ENDINGS AND BEGINNINGS**   


"No, Pliny, back inside with you," said Merlin, trying to chivvy the dragon towards the opening into the covert at one end of the Claw. Most of the others had already left, but the young Yellow Reaper had a habit of lingering over the remains of his meal. Pliny was stubbornly gnawing on a piece of cow thighbone when he suddenly sniffed the air and looked towards the opening into the covert.

Footsteps sounded from the direction of the covert, and Gwaine came into view. He blinked sheepishly at dragon and manservant, looking as hollow-eyed as Merlin felt. Merlin suspected the Knight hadn't had a wink of sleep; it was barely past dawn, and Gwaine was definitely not a morning person. 

"Um," said Gwaine. "I was just... taking a walk?"

Merlin shook his head and gave Gwaine a tired smile. "You can help me get Pliny back into the covert."

"Sure! Right." Gwaine considered the dragon. Even as a juvenile of one of the smaller breeds, Pliny was twice the size of a horse. "How do we do that?"

"Well." Merlin smiled wider when Pliny peered interestedly at Gwaine, evidently taking his cue from Merlin that the Knight was not a threat. "He likes things that are new and shiny." In his chainmail, Gwaine certainly qualified as both. "Just walk into the covert, and he'll follow you."

Pliny ended up taking the thighbone with him, but Merlin decided that it was the dragon's due reward for the sound Gwaine made when Pliny, eventually tiring of merely following his shiny new plaything, leapt and tackled the Knight to the ground.

~*~

Leon and Percival were hovering uncertainly in the central passageway when Merlin and Gwaine arrived. Pliny bounded ahead, not even giving the two Knights a second glance when he passed them. Merlin glanced questioningly at the buckets of water they were carrying; Leon also had rags of cloth draped over one arm. 

"We asked Master Otho if there was any busy work we could help with," explained Leon. "He gave us these and said that dragons like getting cleaned up after their meals."

Which must be the covert-master's way of showing approval of the Knights, as he didn't easily invite people to the lower levels. Merlin told the Knights as much, and then led the way, taking the left passage that sloped downwards.

"What we call the main level is where the covert entrance is," said Merlin. "One level below the main is where the holding cave, the old armoury, and the old crew rooms are, though the latter have been empty for as long as I've come here."

"Oh, I thought the holding cave is on the same level as the entrance," said Leon.

"It seems that way, but no, the ground slopes a little after you pass that big dragon-helm mounted on the wall. Levels two and three below-the-main are where most of the dragons live. I heard that, once, all the dragons could roam the covert and the surrounding woods freely, but now, only harnessed dragons are allowed into the main level and above." Merlin could always tell when he'd reached level two below-the-main, because the smell of dragons became noticeably stronger. "Most of the dragons prefer to sleep in groups, though there are breeds that prefer to be solitary."

The dragons were actually meant to be kept in their own, separate cells, and certainly not allowed to wander even the lower levels as they pleased. If any of the Knights knew this, they weren't showing any signs of running back to the citadel with reports of lawbreaking. Though this could partly be due to the way the heads of all the dragons out in the central passageway immediately turned to look at the newcomers.

The newly-fed dragons were still lingering outside the caves, which made the men's job easier. 

"Pliny," called Merlin. The young dragon appeared out of one of the caves and obediently went to the group of humans. More and more dragon heads were peeking out of the cave entrances. 

Merlin gave Gwaine a meaningful look. The Knight made a long-suffering face, grabbed one of the rags off Leon, and proceeded to wipe off the drying cow's blood from the Greyling's snout. Pliny, Merlin noted, still had the thighbone in his mouth, one rounded end poking out as he played with it. The young dragon made a pleased noise as Gwaine worked.

The passageway was not the ideal place to set up for a spot of dragon-cleaning. Merlin considered moving everyone into one of the caves, but then - no. Better for this to take place out in the open, where all the dragons could see.

Leon ended up cleaning Hespy, whose tail thumped in pleasure, and Percival got Grainne, a Sharpspitter who often seemed listless and distracted, despite her breed's reputation for being intractable. Merlin worked on Dara, a Greyling feral he'd helped nurse back to health two years previous after stumbling into it in the woods. 

Merlin had always found cleaning dragons to be very soothing work, akin to cleaning Arthur’s weapons and armour. He became absorbed in the motions, the appreciative rumble he got for his efforts, the familiar warmth of the thick hide and patterned scales under his hands. When he finished and looked up, he saw that nearly all the dragons on that level, and several ferals who must have crept up from the lower level, were watching them intently.

"The last time I had this many eyes on me, I ended up walking out of a bar brawl naked," said Gwaine. After a pause, he added, "I really don't want to repeat that experience here."

Chasing images of a naked Gwaine caught in a brawl out of his head, Merlin petted Dara and straightened up. "So, who's next?"

A young feral Yellow Reaper he knew as Taran crept forward tentatively. She must have fed early this morning, as the blood on her hide was fully dry and already starting to flake off. Dragons generally licked themselves clean, not unlike cats, but Merlin remembered that Taran was not particularly good at it. He gently shooed Dara off and had Taran take his place.

It quickly became obvious that most of the dragons wanted to be wiped cleaned as well. When an Anglewing feral who clearly hadn't even eaten yet sidled up to Leon, Merlin moved to chase him off - but Leon spoke first, saying, "It's all right, Merlin. I suspect some of these fellows haven't gotten a cleaning in a long while." Or ever, in the case of some of the newer ferals.

"It _is_ soothing work," agreed Gwaine.

There was a somewhat sticky situation when Decima and Elpis wandered in, curious, and growled at seeing their handlers tending to other dragons. They settled down after a great deal of petting and verbal assurances, and stationed themselves where they could keep a close eye on the proceedings.

Eventually Percival and Gwaine left to change out the water. At this point, the passageway was packed with dragons, and several times Merlin had had to gesture for the lot of them to back off a little and give the men some breathing room. The ones that had been cleaned usually drifted towards the back but appeared reluctant to leave altogether. Merlin thought he even caught a glimpse of Cesan at one point. Junius was there, watching, but made no move to get a cleaning himself. 

"They're really not that different from people," said Leon quietly. "And right now I feel like I'm part of a troupe performing in the streets of Camelot."

When Percival and Gwaine returned, Merlin was not at all surprised to see Elyan following them. Merlin wordlessly handed him his own cleaning-rag.

 

~*~

 

Merlin had envisioned Uther's death a thousand times, wished for it a thousand more. 

But never like this. 

 

~*~

 

It spread in a wave of silence; no matter how much a King was feared, despised, rejected, the land still mourned him.

The King was dead.

There was a space like a stuttered word, a missed heartbeat, where the Old Religion trembled with the memory of a time when all was Naught. 

For that moment, had there been anyone with eyes to see, all the dragons in Camelot flickered, there and gone and there again. Kilgarrah bowed his aged head in pain and sang, while bleeding with unwillingness, an old song of mourning.

What followed came with far less fanfare, for life tended to be a great deal more subtle about its beginnings. A breath, an unfurling, a light that began on the far horizon.

Long live the King.

 

~*~

 

The cloak, red, spilled over the steps like blood, like fire, and threaded through it, gleaming gold for their great destiny, the dragon roared in defence, in eternal defiance, tying the King to his people as magic to the land.

Merlin woke from the dream and felt that he was dreaming still. He rose, quiet, and made the familiar journey to Arthur's chambers. He did not think, _these are the King's chambers_ ; for all that they'd prepared for the worst ever since Morgana had left Uther a brittle shell of his former self, it was clear now that they hadn't truly believed it would come to that. Uther was strong, Uther was stubborn, Uther would live forever.

Arthur was awake. The bed looked as if he'd at least made an attempt to sleep, and after a lifetime of hard training, a couple of sleepless nights would not tell on his form, not yet, but Merlin could not help but be concerned. 

He helped Arthur dress. Nothing particularly unfamiliar, just another set of formal clothing; Merlin was reasonably certain that once the ceremonies were over, Arthur would return to his usual daily wear. But it ached, in a strange way, to put layer after layer on Arthur. Each piece fitted perfectly - Gwen would not have allowed anything less - and Arthur wore the whole ensemble well, having grown into his broad shoulders and respectable height and a fighter's build. It was, in many ways, the occasion that Merlin had looked forward to since he'd arrived at Camelot; he'd hurt and fought and _bled_ for this, to stand here and look upon Arthur as his King. Yet Merlin could not shake the feeling that he was, somehow, also giving Arthur away, as if this was the closing of a door that he hadn't even known was open.

 _Stay with me, Merlin_ , sounded more like it belonged to his dream; Merlin nodded, anyway, setting loose an, _always_ , that may or may not have been silent, and followed Arthur down to the throne room.

 

~*~

 

Putting a King to rest and crowning a new one was not a quick process; there was a full week of tedious ceremonies and traditions that Merlin grew too tired appreciate the significance of. Arthur was quiet through it all, stoic and uncomplaining. Merlin stood beside him when he could and gave him his space when he couldn't. 

There was an unusual hush to the covert when Merlin was next able to visit. It was not unlike the general air of mourning that pervaded the city far above; Merlin imagined grey tendrils of grief rolling down the hillside, the black of mourning seeping into the soil and sinking down to the half-forgotten caves. 

He was not surprised to find Leon and Elyan in level one below-the-main, sitting against a wall in the central passageway and surrounded by dragons.

 _Hiding as well?_ he thought about saying, but could not quite muster the energy for even such light humour. He felt strangely hollow, and as if his skin had been rubbed raw, left to dry. He wordlessly held up a bottle of wine that Gwaine had liberated from the busy kitchens.

Leon would normally look disapproving; now he shuffled aside to give Merlin space to sit between them. Merlin lost track of time. He didn’t remember falling asleep, only waking up – his head resting against Elyan’s shoulder, dragons curled around them, Elpis’ wing draped over them to keep them warm.

 

~*~

 

"Can't believe I'm saying this," said Gwaine, dropping his helmet onto the table. The heavy piece caused all the tankards on the table to jump, the full ones spilling a bit of their contents. Several heated glares were thrown their way, but Gwaine didn't notice and, in any case, he was in the company of Camelot's best Knights, all in full armour. "But I can't wait for this week of 'celebrations' to end."

"Be more careful, Gwaine," chided Leon, nodding apologetically to their fellow patrons. He'd borne the day better than the rest of them - Merlin realized he must be used to this kind of thing - but even he was starting to look worn around the edges.

Percival looked ready to fall asleep, right there at the table. He grunted when Gwaine elbowed him, obligingly moving up the bench a little, and took a half-hearted sip of the tankard that Elyan put in front of him.

"Cheers," said Gwaine, downing half his drink in one go. "I mean, tell me I'm not the only one who thought that 'coronation festivities' would involve more drinking and eating and less standing at attention for hours _in full armour_ while Arthur listens to some dusty greybeard drone about history."

"I thought it was interesting," said Elyan conscientiously, "Especially the part about how Camelot used to be all dragonland."

Gwaine let out an exaggerated snore. "It's not exactly surprising, is it, when the King's line is named _Pendragon_? Can I bring up the _standing at attention for hours_ thing again? In. Full. Armour."

"I'm pretty sure Arthur fell asleep between the second blessing and the Three Lights," contributed Merlin. He was expected to be in Arthur's chambers in an hour to help him into his clothing for that night's feast, but surely one tankard would be all right?

"At least he got to kneel for half of it," complained Gwaine. "Why couldn't we just do that? Without the armor. The Kneeling Knights Of Camelot." He grinned and winked at Percival. "I'm pretty good on my knees, if y'know what I mean."

Leon gave them all a tragic look, as if they were deeply disappointing him by not giving the traditions of Camelot the respect and sobriety it deserved. Elyan leaned over the table, grabbed Merlin's tankard, and dumped half of it into Gwaine's cup.

"Hey!" Merlin protested.

"I'm under strict orders to make sure you don't get drunk until after the feast," said Elyan.

"You should stop letting your sister guilt-trip you into things," said Gwaine. "Just because you abandoned her to wander Albion on your own after your mother died, and missed your father dying, doesn't mean you have to be at her beck and call."

"Just because you hate your sister doesn't mean the rest of us can't get along with ours," Elyan fired back.

Leon looked about to intercede, again, but it was Percival who groaned, "Will you village louts just _be quiet_ for an hour?" Merlin remembered, with a flash, that Percival had lost his entire family; from the embarrassed shuffling around the table, the rest of the Knights were thinking of the same thing.

"Are Elpis and Decima ready for the presentation tomorrow?" asked Merlin.

Leon smiled, his automatic reaction of late whenever his dragon was mentioned; a more complicated expression crossed Percival's face - Merlin really wanted to find out what was going on there - but the Knight's broad shoulders relaxed a fraction. 

"Elpis has been all questions since we learned of it," said Leon. "She insists on being cleaned properly for the event, so I'm going to have to be down there at dawn." He didn't sound like he minded. Merlin thought that, if anything, Leon approved that his dragon shared his more fastidious qualities.

"Why don't we take the dragons to the lake?" suggested Merlin. "They can bathe the worst of it off, and make it easier for us to wipe off the rest."

"But the nearest lake is-" Percival stopped, and looked sheepish. "Ah, right, dragons."

" _Flying_ ones," Gwaine supplied helpfully. Elyan elbowed him hard. 

Percival pointedly ignored the two, saying to Merlin, "I think Decima would like that very much." Leon nodded in agreement.

Merlin drained the last of his tankard. "Well, I better go make sure Arthur hasn't climbed out of his window and tried to flee to the other side of Albion." Merlin had _seen_ the speculative way Arthur had been glancing between his bedsheets and his window; Arthur's excuse about Merlin not drying his sheets properly was pathetically transparent. "I never thought someone could complain about having to eat loads of food and hear people make speeches about how great they are." 

Merlin almost fell into Percival while attempting to climb out of the bench. Gwaine wordlessly lent a steadying hand - though Merlin thought that Gwaine's hand didn't have to fall _quite_ so low on his back. "Thanks. And, if it's any consolation, Arthur's a lot more nervous about meeting the dragons than any of you were."

 

~*~

 

"I suppose it's all right for me to admit now that I didn't actually know that dragons can swim?" said Merlin, leaning back against a convenient tree stump. It had used to be a tree, up until Decima had landed and whipped her barbed tail around in her excitement.

Leon and Percival shrugged. "This is why I like you, Merlin - you are not afraid to say when you don't know everything. Unlike a certain someone we can name," said Leon.

Percival gave him a small smile. "It's heartening to know that even you can still be surprised by them."

Out in the water, Elpis flapped her wings to splash some water at Decima, only she clearly hadn't thought the move out fully because she got more water on herself than on the other dragon. Decima let out a tittering sort of rumble that was her equivalent of laughter.

"They really are something," said Percival softly.

Leon hummed and nodded earnestly. "I used to think that the most wondrous feeling in the world was racing a well-trained warhorse over a clear trail. But _flying_ \- nothing can compare to it. Nothing."

 

~*~

 

"If you had listened to me," said Merlin, not bothering to disguise his smugness, "You would have met the dragons ages ago, like the other Knights did, and got used to them, and got them used to you.”

Arthur's "Shut _up_ , Merlin," was tellingly half-hearted, blue eyes nervously scanning the skies while the rest of him pretended to be utterly at ease. Merlin suspected Arthur wasn't even aware of having spoken; admonishing Merlin must come to him as naturally as breathing, now.

It hardly helped, he was sure, that the tension in the courtyard was thicker than the slop Gaius tried to pass as Mystery Soup. Most of the servants were huddled near walls and doorways. For once, the red-cloaked spread of Camelot's bravest looked, to a man, glad to be wearing their full complement of armour and weaponry. There was not a horse in sight; one whiff of dragon was usually enough to send even the sturdiest warhorse into fits. 

Trumpets sounded, from somewhere up in the battlements. It was a short burst of noise, unfamiliar, and something about it seemed... incomplete. Merlin had never heard that particular tune before, but it was almost as if he could sense the notes that were missing, the gap in the harmony. To the side, one of the old men who'd been officiating all week helpfully provided some context: the trumpet-call was what the Kings of old used to summon the dragons of Camelot to them.

"Why are you nervous, anyway?" asked Merlin. "You don't - you don't seriously think they're going to, what, _eat_ you?"

"Of course not," scoffed Arthur. "If you've avoided being eaten after all these years, I'm quite sure I'm safe. It's just-" he gestured around them, encompassing the assembled guards and wary audience and the citadel that's been decorated within an inch of its life, "It is very important that this part goes well. I've spoken to the Knights about it. Repeatedly. I want the people of Camelot to see dragons differently. Right now, I'll settle for a little less fear. What? Is there something on my face?"

Merlin shook his head. He shifted his gaze to the courtyard stones, miraculously clean, though the urge to stare at Arthur was still strong. 

He'd known, hadn't he, that Arthur wanted to change things? That Arthur was not Uther, for all that he loved and respected his father. It was a big part of why Merlin had worked so hard to keep him alive, to take care of him. 

Other reasons had come along, but it was good to remember. 

"Wings from the south!" exclaimed one of the lookouts on the battlements.

The two dragons landed as gently and carefully as Merlin had ever seen them do: a soft _thump_ that still sent dust rolling away over the courtyard. Leon and Percival dismounted. A breeze picked up their cloaks, sending them fluttering, distinctly newer than the cloaks of the other Knights. The cloth was thicker and with more layers, and they had opted to wear leather jerkins underneath them. Merlin knew that Percival intended to keep wearing his chainmail shirt, when on regular duty, but generally dragon-captains dressed for warmth while still minimizing the extra weight their dragons would have to carry.

One of the courtiers came down from the main citadel doors. He bore a cushion, in the middle of which lay an ornate dagger. Merlin had seen all manner of old relics brought out over the course of the festivities, each of them full of symbolic and mythical value. This was clearly another. Something about it told Merlin that it was extraordinarily old. He didn't think it was the yellow-ish colour of the blade, or the antiquated style of the jewel-lined hilt; there was a _weight_ to it, like it was drawing the air to itself, that Merlin had only sensed in very few of the other ceremonial objects.

His eyes were trained on the dagger, so he wasn't sure exactly what happened - later, people would say that the courtier had tripped over the bottom step, over his own ceremonial robe, or even that one of the dragons had tripped him (which made Merlin wonder if people had any idea about the relative sizes of the dragons and the courtyard). It didn't matter, anyway. The courtier stumbled, or tripped, just enough to dislodge the dagger from its resting place and send it clattering onto the ground.

The sound of the dagger hitting carved stone seemed strangely loud for how small the object was. The tip of it somehow got wedged between two stones, so that the hilt was sticking up, shuddering.

Merlin, operating on instinct, bent down and picked up the dagger. His hand wrapped naturally around the hilt. On closer look, he saw why the dagger had sounded odd: it was made of _bone_. It gleamed like metal, and the sharpness of the edge left no doubt that it could cut as effectively as any knife.

The courtier shook the cushion at him. Merlin pretended not to see, and turned to Arthur instead, offering the dagger hilt-first.

Arthur, who was still staring at the newly-arrived dragons, likely didn't notice anything odd, after years of Merlin handing him things, and simply took the dagger. Merlin could feel all the courtiers and officials having an apoplexy behind them, but Arthur did not notice that, either.

"How hard were you gripping this?" asked Arthur in a low voice, frowning. "It's _hot_."

To Merlin's eyes, the dagger was _glowing_. Merlin had to tear his gaze away from it. He knew, without a doubt, that the dagger was not simply made out of bone - it was _dragon_ bone.

“Before men came to this land, it was home to dragonkind.” Arthur raised the dagger. “I stand before you now, a King newly-crowned, to honour that part of Camelot’s past, as every King has done before me.” He took hold of the hilt and, with great care, made a cut on the palm of his left hand. Blood welled up, but Arthur was an experienced hunter – the wound was just deep enough for him to sprinkle a few drops over the courtyard, no more. 

Merlin schooled his expression to remain neutral when he realized that he could _smell_ the blood, though he shouldn’t have been able to from several paces away. The dragons shifted; _they_ could smell it, without a doubt, but they didn’t look to be on the verge of pouncing on Arthur. In fact, Elpis seemed much more interested in gazing at all the people assembled in the courtyard.

“To the dragons of Camelot!” shouted Leon.

A pause, then a clear, “To the dragons!”

The cheering wasn’t perhaps as loud as it had been for the other events, but the dragons, obviously delighted, joined in on the third round, throwing their heads back and roaring hard enough to shake roofs down in the lower town. Merlin chuckled at the number of guards who dropped their spears.

Arthur gave the dragon dagger back to him. It wasn’t until the courtier bearing the cushion gave him a begrudgingly approving look – a rare event in any circumstance – that Merlin really looked at the relic he’d just deposited back on its velvet-lined home.

The knife was clean, pristine, without a single sign that Arthur’s blood had been upon it.

 

~*~

 

Merlin didn't bother cursing when his fingers slipped on the carabiner for the two hundredth time and he lost his footing on Decima's spine ridges. He tumbled off her back, too tired to do more than grunt when he landed on the weed-covered stone next to her hindleg. She'd considerately moved her tail out of the way, so he couldn't be accidentally stabbed by one of the long bone barbs sticking out of it - not that he would have been able to stop his fall, unless he used magic, or more likely, his magic would act out on its own because it had a vested interest in keeping him alive, and wow, he must truly be exhausted for his thoughts to be running every which way like it was now, and-

"Are you imagining your long, long trip to the ground if that had happened while you'd been in the air?" interrupted a familiar voice.

Naturally, after weeks of avoiding all things dragon, Arthur had started showing up to their training sessions whenever he could. Merlin did not doubt that the opportunity to watch his manservant demonstrate his lack of coordination in exciting new ways was one of the big draws. 

"Pfwah," sputtered Merlin, "Decima won't let me die, she'll catch me before I hit the ground."

Arthur's face scrunched up in confusion. "She will?"

"'Course." Merlin raised an arm, which felt like it was made of soggy bread at this point, and blindly patted Decima's leg, though it was more like bumping his knuckles against the dragon, since he couldn't feel or move his fingers anymore. "Unless Percival was falling, too. But I'd just try to grab him so she can catch the both of us."

Arthur looked as if such a concept had never occurred to him before. 

After a long moment, Merlin cleared his throat and gave his King a dry look. "They're _dragons_ , Arthur, not horses. They can get spooked, but they won't deliberately try to off the people riding on them. And they'll do anything to protect their handlers, you know that."

"So I understand," said Arthur. The surprise on his face shifted to thoughtfulness. 

From the other side of the clearing, Leon let out a startled yell, followed by a dull thump on the ground. The Knights were generally better at the training than Merlin, but only by a small margin. They were all learning new skills, and they knew about said skills mainly from a book Arthur had found, since there were no dragon-captains around to teach them: moving up and down the dragon's back by unlocking one carabiner and moving it to the next ring on the dragon's harness and then unlocking the second carabiner; mounting and dismounting quickly, with the dragon's help and without; using a crossbow while on dragonback. 

"I've got some ideas that I want the dragons to try," said Arthur. "I’ve acquired translations of an old book that described certain aerial manoeuvres. Get up and have a look, tell me what you think. At the very least, we need them doing exercises to build up their speed and stamina."

Curiousity had Merlin climbing to his feet despite the pain-spiked protests of his body. 

"Merlin, you're looking at me strangely," said Arthur. 

"It's just-" Merlin shook his head, grinning widely. "You're training them like Knights! The dragons, I mean. Obviously Leon and Percival are already Knights. It's. Something."

"Right." Arthur blinked at him, then clearly brushed it off as just another Merlin-being-incomprehensible episode, and shoved a few loose sheets of parchment into his hand.

An hour later, Leon was frowning down at the sheets. Percival and Decima were in the air, trying out a steep dive while Arthur watched. 

"To fly with the wind, not against it," Leon read aloud, "for Dragon is of the Old Religion, strongest when acting close to- manure?"

"Nature," corrected Merlin, snorting. Arthur had decent penmanship when he put effort into it, but his usual scribbling, especially when in a hurry, had taken Merlin a long time to learn to decipher. 

"I would have expected him to get a scribe to write the translation," grumbled Leon.

"Too impatient, is my guess." Merlin could imagine Arthur looming over one of the greybeards, jotting down the translation as it was worked out.

A great roar from above startled them. Decima sped towards the ground, wings pulled back, plummeting faster than Merlin had ever seen a dragon do. His heart rose up and lodged in his throat; for several seconds he was convinced that she was going to crash, going to squash them all. 

And then she pulled up, wings snapping open and arresting her descent. A strong gust of wind pushed by her wings rolled over the men, sending leaves and twigs and dust scattering everywhere. She'd been close, far closer to the ground than Merlin was entirely comfortable with, and that much strain on her wings at the end could not have been comfortable. She glided for a few seconds, her legs skimming the tops of surrounding trees, before flapping up until she was at a decent altitude again.

"That was impressive," said Leon. 

Arthur made a noise of agreement. "If there was a way for them to carry something - boiling pitch is too heavy, and too dangerous for both the dragon and the handler, but perhaps a ball of something that can be lit on fire, which can be dropped on the enemy below."

"Will the dragons be all right with the fire?" asked Leon.

The question could have been meant for either Arthur or Merlin, but Merlin had come to accept that dragon-related questions were always aimed at him. "Yes. Fire is comforting to them," he replied, echoing Junius' words.

 

~*~

 

For most of Uther's reign, dragons had only been used as a last resort, against bandits riding half-starved beasts or when the enemy had draconic forces of their own that could not be matched by mounted cavalry on the ground. So it was more than a little surprising when Arthur pushed away the map he'd been poring over, leaned back on his chair, and asked Merlin, "What do you think about Leon and Percival flying around this band of mercenaries and coming at them from behind?"

Merlin placed the last, freshly-laundered shirt into Arthur's wardrobe and closed the door. "Well. I think you wouldn't need to? A dozen or so mercenaries should be no problem for a group of guards, maybe one or two Knights with them."

"As I told my uncle and _all the other advisors_ , I am well aware I don't _need_ to, Merlin," snapped Arthur, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "But it would be good to get the dragons used to fighting, and to get the other Knights used to the dragons as well. It makes no sense to only use them when there are other dragons on the field, with no strategy other than to throw them at the enemy dragons and hope they win." He chuckled humourlessly. "Do you know what Lord Argenot said when I told them that?"

"What?"

" _'But that's how it's always been done.'_ Ridiculous, as a counter-argument, and untrue besides."

Merlin moved closer and looked down at the map, taking in the notes on the terrain and the markers showing the approximate position of the mercenaries. "I think it's a good idea, for what it's worth."

" _Thank you_ , Merlin. At least my own manservant doesn't think I'm going soft in the head."

"Oh, but I do think you're going soft in the head," said Merlin, grinning, "It's still a good idea, though."

It wasn't until later that it occurred to Merlin to wonder just how Arthur knew that things had been different in Camelot, once.

 

~*~

 

Arthur ordered the entire courtyard cleared out before the harnessed dragons arrived at the citadel. Merlin didn't think that that was the way to engender the people's confidence in the dragons, but realized that Arthur may have had a point when he saw how skittish the remaining guards and Knights were. It had been years since Uther had done this, the last few times during the very beginning of Merlin's stay in Camelot, and, the coronation aside, most people had not seen dragons since then. 

There was another change: Leon and Percival decided to go into the covert themselves, rather than wait for the dragons to be brought out of the covert to them. So when Elpis and Decima landed in the courtyard, their Knights were already on their backs, though they dismounted in order to speak to Arthur.

"Do not seek to engage them," ordered Arthur. "The sight of the dragons alone should send them running back the way they came. While I have every confidence in your skills in the horsebow and the sword, your goal in this mission is to familiarize your dragons to battle conditions."

"Aye, sire," said Leon, echoed by Percival. 

"Arthur," Gwen spoke up. Merlin started; he hadn't seen her arriving. Where the rest of the servants and royal household had retreated into the citadel, she looked entirely unconcerned to be within lunging distance of two dragons. "Can dragons truly only carry one passenger each?"

She was looking at Arthur, but they all knew who the question was meant for. Merlin gave a subtle shake of his head, _no_ , and Arthur said, "it is a traditional rather than a physical constraint." Because he was also the King, now, he added, "It is not part of the law, either."

Gwen smiled. "Only, the dragons look like they can carry at least two each, maybe more, and I thought it might help if Merlin went along, to help the good captains. After all, even Knights have squires to attend them."

Arthur sent Merlin a suspicious glare, but likely found his answer in Merlin's expression of, _no, Gwen, what are you doing?_

"Well," said Arthur, hesitantly, "In the past, it was considered impolitic to the dragon-captains, as well as hampering, not unlike putting two men on one a horse-"

"Oh, we don't mind," said Percival bluntly. It was so rare to get a comment out of Percival without asking for it that it always took those around him unawares when he volunteered one, which Merlin was beginning to suspect might at least be partially deliberate. "It would be helpful to have an extra set of hands."

After a moment, Leon said, "Yes, I agree."

Merlin half-expected Arthur to throw a fit - if much more subtly than he would have as a Prince - or at least point out that Merlin would need a harness. But a long moment later, Arthur merely nodded. "Very well."

Merlin ran to his room to fetch his harness, haphazardly scrambled into it, and returned to the courtyard to find both the Knights mounted again. Percival waved him over to Decima. The Chequered Nettle held out a strong forearm to help Merlin up her back. Merlin nearly slipped off, fingers even clumsier than usual, nerves jingling, but hours of practice kicked in and he managed to lock his carabiner onto the rings of her harness, a few feet behind Percival's place at her shoulders.

The Knights on horseback had departed that morning; the horses needed to be well away before they could smell the dragons coming. Even with a head start, the dragons would easily overtake them. 

"Good luck," Arthur said, stepping back. 

The muscles underneath Merlin rippled, tensing, and then those great wings swept down, up, a sharp jolt as powerful hind legs launched them skywards, another mighty sweep, and the ground was falling away, the courtyard stone and Arthur and the citadel growing steadily smaller with distance.

 

They had nearly reached the area where the mercenaries were expected to be when the problem seemed to occur to all three men simultaneously. 

"I can't see anything down there!" bellowed Leon. 

Merlin winced. They were high enough that he was fairly sure people on the ground wouldn't be able to hear them, but if Arthur intended to use dragons more often, they would need to work out a better way of communicating in the air. 

"At least we don't have branches slapping us in the face anymore," commented Percival. "Or have to go around obstacles on the ground. I didn't mind, before, but now I can see how much faster it is to go directly to wherever it is we're heading for."

"Excuse me," said Decima. Merlin started; fortunately, Percival was in front of him and facing forwards. "If you're looking for the men on horses, they're just going past those rowan trees over there."

They were probably the Knights. Merlin patted Decima's side, to acknowledge that he'd heard her. "The mercenaries are not mounted, are they?" Merlin asked Percival. 

"Probably a couple of packhorses," answered Percival. "Are you thinking that they can't be moving very fast?"

He'd only meant to give the information to Decima. "Something like that."

Decima was peering curiously at the treetops below them. The weather was cloudy and grey, an unexpected advantage: it wouldn't exactly be an ambush if the mercenaries spotted dragon-shaped shadows passing over them. Merlin realized that this was probably the furthest the Chequered Nettle had ever flown from the covert. He hoped she wouldn't get distracted by new sights, though the forest here didn't look, to his eye, any different from the one around Camelot.

After a minute, she cried, "Oh, oh, I think I've found them!" She sniffed, and added, "They don't smell very clean."

"I've got them, too," called Elpis, more distantly. 

"Um," said Merlin. "I think - I think the dragons know where the men we're looking for are."

Percival frowned doubtfully. "How?"

"They, ah, have a very keen sense of smell," Merlin tried.

The Knight paused, looking thoughtful. "They - Merlin, they _can_ understand us, can't they? And not just like when horses or dogs recognize commands. Decima _listens_ when I talk to her, even if it's nothing important. There are times when I swear she tries to answer back; she would, I think, if she could talk."

 _It's not the_ talking _part that's not working_ , Merlin was tempted to say. "They are. They - they can understand." The earnestness in his voice was a little embarrassing, but he was painfully aware, for the first time, here was somebody who was willing to _try_ , who was dipping a toe into a part of Merlin's world where he had long laboured alone. 

He was tempted to try, yet again, to look for a spell that would enable others to understand dragons. He internally winced at the reminder that he'd been naive enough, once, to think that that was all he'd need to do to stop people mistreating dragons. 

He still didn't know why Uther had left the covert alone when he got rid of dragons everywhere else, but he doubted those reasons, whatever they were, could have withstood Uther's response if dragons had suddenly started being understood by people.

Percival and Leon held a quick conference, shouting back and forth while the dragons drifted as close as they could in the air. Elpis managed to communicate the direction in which the mercenaries were heading, which seemed to be following a small stream. Leon decided to land them in a small clearing nearby and sneak, on foot, to a spot that the men would likely travel past. 

Merlin had never seen dragons try to move quietly. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing when Decima kept getting slapped on the face by branches. Both dragons had yet to achieve their adult size, but they still had to take a great deal of care to keep their heads from showing above the trees. Merlin could see Decima's barbed tail twitching with the instinct, determinedly suppressed, to swing wide and clear the path in front of her.

They placed themselves so well, and apparently so stealthily, that the mercenaries paid them absolutely no attention when they finally appeared. Half the group was looking back the way they'd come; it seemed that they had spotted the Knights on their tail. Merlin was squeezed between Elpis' thick hide and a damp tree trunk. Both dragons hardly seemed to be breathing, they were so still.

The wind shifted. Suddenly, the mercenaries' packhorses whinnied loudly, and tried to turn around. The men cursed and grabbed their reins.

" _Halt_ ," Leon shouted.

The men not occupied with the horses yelled and drew their weapons. Percival shoved himself forward to stand next to Leon, both their swords at ready.

This was not all different from all the times he'd accompanied Arthur, Merlin realized, as he hung back with the dragons and watched the progress of the fight. He occasionally lent a little aid - an inexplicably slippery patch of ground here and an ever-trusty falling branch there - but the two Knights had the situation well in hand. They'd already subdued all but three mercenaries by the time Merlin heard the racket of hooves from the guards on horseback.

"A good day's work!" exclaimed Percival happily, while the guards tied up the mercenaries.

"That was quite interesting," Decima agreed. "I never understood before why Percival spends so much time practicing with his weapons, but did you see the way he fought those two men at once?"

"It was almost like a dance," Elpis piped in.

There was shouting from where the mercenaries were packed together. Merlin turned in time to see two of the guards staggering back, hands bloody, and a small, lean figure darted past them, a knife on either hand. The mercenary's dash for freedom took him right to where Leon was discussing something with one of the guards. Neither of the men from Camelot, Merlin realized, would be able to get their sword out in time.

But before Merlin's magic could grab the mercenary by the boots, something knocked him into Percival, and then there was a high-pitched scream. Merlin scrambled off Percival with a distracted apology.

The mercenary was on the ground, making whimpering noises and crawling rapidly _back_ to where his fellows were tied up. Elpis, baring a bit of teeth and growling hard enough to rattle Merlin's bones, was crouched in front of Leon, blocking the Knight entirely from view. She did not stop watching the mercenary until he was sat with the others again; the pale, still-whimpering man looked ready to put the ropes back on himself.

"By the gods, Leon, control your beast!" shouted one of the guards. His voice wavered at the end when Elpis turned to look at him, but the dragon merely turned around and nosed at her Knight, as if reassuring herself that he was all right.

"She saw a danger and leapt to protect us," said Leon coolly, "As I am sure any of you would have done for each other.”

There was a low muttering from another guard. Merlin was too far away to hear, but Decima grumbled, "She did not even hurt him." Percival, despite not understanding her words, likely sensed her mood and laid a gentle hand on her neck.

Leon was evidently close enough to hear better because his face darkened. He marched right up to the guard, looming over him. "What is your name, man?"

The guard swallowed visibly, but said, "Ylas. Sir."

"Your scabbard. The one presented to you when you chose to take up arms for Camelot. What is on it?"

Ylas looked down, though whether to check his scabbard or just to escape Leon's gaze, Merlin didn't know. "A dragon, Sir Leon."

"Do you consider yourself loyal to King Arthur, Guard Ylas?"

This one got a strong, "Yes, Sir Leon."

"And were you present at the coronation celebrations for our new King? I know you must have been, because every guard and knight in Camelot had to be, except on those times when they were on duty."

"I was, Sir Leon."

"Do you think it is seemly for a guard of Camelot - someone who King Arthur trusts with his life - to be making such remarks about one of his King's decisions? Remarks that also impugn, whether intended to or not, the history of this very land?"

Another swallow. "No, Sir Leon." A pause, and then a stiff, "My apologies."

Leon nodded. He walked back to where Elpis was waiting, uncaring of the stares from all the other men, and climbed aboard his dragon. He nodded at Percival and Merlin. "I'll return to Camelot and let Arthur know that the mission has been successful."

Percival nodded back; silently agreeing, Merlin knew, to stay here and keep watch over the guards and their new prisoners on the journey to Camelot. Leon flashed them a grateful smile. Elpis shuffled over towards the river, where the trees were thinner. A few heavy flaps of her wings, and she was gone.

~*~

 

By unspoken group vote, Gwaine dragged Leon out to his favourite tavern after they were both finished with their duties for the day. Merlin wasn't entirely sure how he got dragged along, though it might have had something to do with him lingering near Leon's quarters.

"Superstitions. I hate them," Leon informed his third cup of wine.

"I don't know if people will ever fully embrace dragons," said Gwaine, his words slurring around the edges. "But they'll at least get used to them. The guards have already stopped jumping when they hear the flap of wings."

Leon swallowed audibly. "I think I'm trying to make up for all the years I spent ignoring what was happening. The things I've learned about the old dragon-captains..." He downed his drink.

"Probably." Gwaine clapped Leon hard on the shoulder. "But you're doing something about it now, aren't you? Ignorance doesn't mean you're evil. In fact, I don't think you have an evil bone in your body."

"I'd just like to know why Arthur is doing all this," mumbled Merlin. The table felt suspiciously sticky against his face; he should be disgusted by this, he thought, but at the moment he was enjoying the opportunity to rest his too-heavy head. "There's a lot he keeps to himself, now." After a moment's consideration, Merlin added, "Except laundry."

Gwaine heaved a deep sigh. "Endless buckets of sunshine and optimism, the two of you are."

 

~*~

 

What Merlin meant was: sometimes, Arthur would disappear to some part of the citadel where Merlin couldn't find him. He'd initially assumed that Arthur was sneaking away with Gwen, but Arthur usually recruited his help for those, and one night Gwen came looking for him because she couldn't find Arthur and assumed Arthur was with him. 

It was only because, one, Arthur never left the citadel, at least in any way Merlin or the guards could determine; and, two, Arthur was never gone for very long, usually an hour; that Merlin decided not to worry about it. Arthur was entitled to some alone time, now more than ever.

 

~*~

 

He would remember, later: the cracks of the egg echoing like thunder inside his skull. Then, the lightning: the first brush of his hand over the new hatchling's warm-soft head.

"Aithusa," said the dragonet, as if trying the name out. "It is a good name. And you are Merlin." The way she said it felt exactly as if she were saying, _and you are mine_.

"Yes," said Merlin. It seemed somewhat inadequate, so he sheepishly added, "Hello."

Kilgarrah made a pleased rumble, and bowed his head to peer down at them. "Now you are bound to us, Merlin son of Balinor," intoned the Great Dragon. There was a note in his voice that was not entirely kind. "A dragonlord in truth, not just in blood."

"I knew you were up to something, you sly old beast," said Merlin, without looking away from the dragonet. _His_ dragon. His, in the same way that his cold hands were his and the heart hammering away inside his chest was his and his memories were _his_. He was not even properly angry that the old dragon might have planned this. How could he be, when every instinct in him said that this was _right_ , that some part of him felt as if it had been _waiting_ for this? Kilgarrah would always have his plots. 

"You cannot understand how unnatural it has been, to see a dragonlord without a dragon," said Kilgarrah, unrepentant. "Your inheritance gives you so much control over us, and yet you had no dragon at your side to temper and advise you. There was a time when such a thing would have been seen as an abomination, and dragons and men alike would have hunted you down until you bonded a dragon. I considered bonding you myself, but you have grown too cautious of me, and my bitterness towards men has sunk to my bones; it would not have worked. No, best that a young dragonlord start with a young dragon, so they may grow in wisdom together. This egg can only be but yet another sign of your great destiny, for it to have resurfaced when it did."

"You mean," Merlin frowned, "The dragonlords of old were bonded to dragons? All of them?" Aithusa squawked and spread her wings.

Kilgarrah gave him a familiar look of exasperation. "Have you absorbed _nothing_ of your studies of magic? Magic does not come without a price. There is a diffuse form of magic in the natural world, which imbues all living things. But _powerful_ magic, the kind of magic that can affect the world or shift the course of events, requires a particular set of circumstances. Most of them are rooted in _agreements_."

"That's what spells are," Merlin piped up. "Spells are like a contract; its terms guide and place constraints upon the magic."

"It is reassuring to know that you have been paying _some_ attention," the large dragon said dryly. "The powers of a dragonlord come from an ancient agreement between your kind and mine. Human magic gave us power, and created the Great Dragons; in return, we gave an oath of obeisance. The bonding of Great Dragon and dragonlord was meant to ensure that neither side could abuse the power that they had been given." Kilgarrah canted his head thoughtfully. "Of course, magic never entirely behaves the way one expects it to. There was no provision made for the lesser dragons, and the Great Dragons forgot that one of our kind's basest instincts is for smaller dragons to follow the example of the larger. And the humans never anticipated that there might come a time when there would be no more dragonlords, much less sorcerers, to call Great Dragons from the egg." 

Aithusa chirped happily at Merlin, then caught sight of her wings and tried to turn her head around to give them a better look, and the motion sent her tumbling off her perch. She landed wetly on the grass, and bounced back onto her feet, full of energy, and squeaked with enthusiasm when she saw Merlin's shoes only a few feet away. 

Merlin and Kilgarrah silently watched her inspect said shoes before tentatively gnawing at one. "For what it is worth," said Kilgarrah, in an oddly resigned voice, "I have a feeling that the two of you are well-suited to one another."


	5. Dragonlord

Percival stood like a statue beside Merlin's bed. He ignored the chair, choosing to station himself between the bed and the window. He'd heard that sometimes people in deep sleep, on the brink of death, could still hear the voices of loved ones speaking to them. He couldn't think of anything to say, however, and rather thought that Merlin would appreciate his silence more than forced speech. For someone who enjoyed chatter, Merlin never seemed to mind that Percival was naturally quiet. It was always very easy to be in his presence.

Merlin reminded him of his father, energetic and cheerful. Percival took after his mother, which had always made his brothers and sisters tease him about her liking him best, even though they knew that she had more than enough love for all of them.

It still hurt to remember them. But he'd grown into the grief; what might have once turned dark and vengeful, consuming, had now settled into a deep ache, quiet as suited his nature. He could never replace them, could never fill the loss - but he was not _lost_ , not anymore, and neither was he alone.

So he stood guard, because he knew what it meant to be _family_ , and knew that everyone else was fighting just as hard for it, in their own way, and this was his: keeping watch, silent, while Merlin's breathing measured out the hours.

  


  
**CHAPTER FOUR: DRAGONLORD**   


Aithusa entertained herself around Merlin's feet for several more minutes, then raised her head and sniffed, "I am hungry." Having witnessed a few hatchings in the past himself, Merlin had known to have a freshly-butchered cow ready.

"Wait," interrupted Kilgarrah, when Merlin would have just given the meat to the dragonet, "Once this was a sacred ceremony, witnessed by the King and the entire royal court. History has made the rituals of the Old Religion into secretive, uncouth things, but we should observe the few that we are able to." A large forearm came up, a knife held carefully between two talons. "Take this blade and cut out the heart. It is the proper first meal for a Great Dragon."

It was hard, sticky work, even with the cow already in pieces. Merlin had never done any proper butchering before, aside from the results of Arthur's hunting, and had only a vague idea of where the heart would be. He suspected Kilgarrah was entertained by his efforts. The Great Dragon would surely have been able to tear the cow apart much quicker, but Merlin knew better than to ask. In the end, he had to haul the part containing the ribs, now looking a little tattered, right out of the wooden tub he'd used to carry the meat. 

He eventually got the heart. The cow had its last revenge on him by splattering him with blood when he squeezed too hard while pulling it out. He felt like gagging, even though he counted himself well acquainted, at this point, to the slaughter-room stench. His shirt and trousers were generously stained and his hair was clumping together in places. 

Still, it was easy to forget such details when he presented Aithusa with the bloody piece of meat. She let out a pleased chirping sound, and swallowed the whole heart in one mouthful. 

Kilgarrah nodded approvingly. "May this be a sign that she will grow strong and sure and steadfast. As men are creatures of the land, so are dragons creatures of magic; but a Great Dragon must be both. You and Aithusa have come to Camelot from other places, but you belong to this land now. Never forget, young dragon, from whose hands you received your first meal."

She licked his arms and hands; as an attempt at cleaning, the result was superficial at best, but he appreciated the effort anyway. He beamed at her, unable to help himself. She twitched her tail and asked, "May I have the rest of it now?"

Merlin glanced at Kilgarrah. The older dragon nodded. Merlin gently picked her up and placed her in the tub. "Here you go."

 

~*~

Anxiety about Morgana lay over the court like an omen-cloud, suffocating and never spoken of. Most attributed the increased mercenary activity to her, even though there was no proof. It seemed as if they’d just recovered from the Dorocha, and the loss of Uther, when a messenger rode in reporting several people found dead in a village near the southern border of Camelot.

Gaius left to investigate, and returned with a chilling report of bodies burned black, nearly unrecognizable, though none of them had been near any source of fire.

~*~

For the first few weeks after hatching, Aithusa would do little more than eat and sleep. Merlin considered sneaking her into the covert while she was small enough to fit in his arms, but a part of him was reluctant to do so at this stage. It was partly a reluctance to share her with other dragons just yet, whose reactions he couldn't predict, and partly a desire to let her enjoy the open air and relative freedom for as long as possible. 

Kilgarrah found a small cave several leagues from Camelot which could fit both dragons comfortably. Merlin knew better than to think this was the older dragon's usual abode. It was pleasant and clean, in any case, and Merlin brought old blankets and a stack of hay for Aithusa to make a nest from.

He visited every night, and during the day if he could get away for an hour or two. He still had duties to Arthur, but mainly during the morning and before Arthur went to bed; Arthur was extremely busy during the day and generally agreed when Merlin asked to spend time at the covert - which he used to full advantage, because Leon and Percival were more occupied with spending time with their dragons. After Arthur dismissed him for the night, Merlin would sneak out of Camelot and call for Kilgarrah. Most of the time, he ended up falling asleep in the dragons' cave. Kilgarrah took great pleasure in waking him up before dawn for the rushed flight back to Camelot.

The system worked well, so long as Merlin didn't think about minor details such as sleeping or eating.

 

~*~

"You look terrible, Merlin," Gwaine greeted him at the entrance of the covert.

"Haven't been sleeping well," Merlin admitted. He hadn't even visited the covert in almost a week; he'd decided to make an appearance before Leon and Percival noticed enough to mention it to Arthur.

"Well, go down and say hi to the nice dragons," said Gwaine, "Leon and I will be in the Claw, if you feel like stopping by."

It was lucky he parted ways with Gwaine, because the moment he stepped into the lower level, every dragon's head turned to look at him. 

"What is it?" he asked. "Did Gwaine stick something on me?" He gave his hair and the back of his shirt a thorough pat-down.

"Great Dragon," said the nearest dragon, who turned out to be Hespy.

"Oh. Um, yes." Merlin couldn't stop the smile taking over his face. "Her name's Aithusa."

The dragons continued to be eerily quiet and watchful, but for a burst of whispering further down the tunnel. It was only when a very clear, "I _told_ you it was true!" reached his ears that Merlin was able to identify one voice as belonging to Elpis.

He moved towards the voices - dragons shuffled quickly out of his way, as if afraid to touch him - and saw Elpis attempting (not very successfully) to have a quiet argument with Cesan. Merlin half-expected Cesan to skitter away from him, like the feral had done every time they'd encountered one another in the caves, but this time the Greyling gave him an unreadable look and said to Elpis, "So the boy somehow found himself a Great Dragon after all. It still doesn't matter, and we don't owe him anything."

"No, you don't," Merlin agreed easily. "But, wait, how do you all know about Aithusa? Can you smell her on me?"

"Yes," said Junius, voice drifting out of a nearby cave, "But it is more her influence - it has been a very long time since any dragon here has sensed the power of a true dragonlord. This covert holds traces of the Great Dragons who resided here in the past, but they are pale shadows compared to that which burns from you now."

Great Dragons used to live in the covert? It made sense, Merlin realized. He'd long associated the covert with Kilgarrah's imprisonment and the other dragons' confinement, but where else would the Great Dragons have lived? He thought of all the closed-off caves, the labyrinth of abandoned tunnels; it occured to him that this place might not have always been so cold and dark.

He noticed that Elpis had subtly - for a five-ton beast, anyway - shifted closer to him and was now sniffing the air around him.

"Really, what is it? Do I need a wash?" Come to think of it, he couldn't remember the last time Gaius had forced him to take a bath. He'd been traipsing between forest and Camelot for days.

"No, it is not unpleasant," Elpis assured him. "Not in the least. Merlin, you smell like _dragon_."

 

~*~

 

Merlin walked into Arthur's room to find his King gazing thoughtfully at several large pieces of parchment spread out over his desk. Merlin saw that they were plans of some sort. Perhaps for some kind of weapons: he recognized the body of a crossbow in one, a long length of spear in another. 

Arthur must have heard him come in, but didn't speak for so long that Merlin began to feel nervous. He was familiar with Arthur's silences by now, and this felt like a I-am-working-up-to-whatever-it-is-I-want-to-tell-you kind.

"I once came upon this room, which had a door that was always locked," Arthur eventually said, his voice uncharacteristically soft, "Except one day, I saw my father come out of it, and he did not lock it behind him. I like to think that he'd simply forgotten. Naturally, I went inside." He paused. His finger skated over the plans in front of him, as if drawing something only he could see. "It was full of my mother's old things. Everything was covered in dust. I was afraid of touching anything. But I'd worked out that this was a place my father didn't want me to know about, and naturally I wanted to know why. What I remember clearest is the shelves of books along one wall." He made a restless gesture with his hands. "All the books were about dragons. I took one and left. My father only started telling me about the dangers of dragons a year later. By then, I'd read the book many times, and all I knew was: my mother had loved dragons."

Suddenly, Merlin remembered the times when he couldn't immediately find Arthur, and all the bits of information about dragons that Arthur had unearthed. Everyone had simply assumed that they were from the library, or part of the royal collection. 

This was Arthur's way of explaining, well, everything. The interest in dragons, the source of most of their current knowledge on Camelot's draconic past, Arthur's initial reservations about dragons even when he clearly wanted to do right by them. 

Arthur rarely talked about Uther, and usually only to refer to his father's policies or to appeal to the traditionalists in court. He never spoke of his mother, not willingly.

Merlin came to stand next to him. He was tempted to lay a comforting hand on Arthur's shoulder, but there was something brittle about Arthur's stance. Merlin turned his attention to the plans in front of him. It took him many long minutes to figure out what all the extra bits and pieces on otherwise recognizable shapes were for. "These are weapons that can be used on dragonback."

"Yes." Arthur traced the crossbow-like thing thoughtfully. Merlin wondered, for a brief moment, how the Queen would have a book on weaponry. As if guessing his thoughts Arthur said, "These plans came from a traveller's account of a visit to Camelot; the author had worked briefly at the royal armoury to pay for food and lodgings." 

"You should ask Gwen if they're, you know, all right to use," said Merlin, who knew well the dubious accuracy of things reconstructed from books. 

"I already have." Arthur admitted wryly. "These are the final drafts; she'd made a lot of corrections to the first ones. She's personally overseeing the building of the first dragon crossbow." The pride in his voice was unmistakable, and Merlin thought: _Gwen will make a brilliant queen_.

Merlin nudged him meaningfully. "So. When are you going to ask her?" 

"We only finalized this draft today-"

" _Arthur_."

Arthur smiled. There was something boyish in the expression, belonging more to the Prince than to the King; Merlin ignored the tickle in his gut, banishing thoughts that had no place here, in the space Merlin had carved for himself by Arthur's side.

"I have... a plan."

Visions of fiery wreckage filled Merlin's mind. "No. _No_ , whatever it is you're planning, you will accept my help on it. Because I am intimately familiar with those things you call 'plans' and I love Gwen too much to subject her to them."

 

~*~

 

Merlin concentrated. The fire grew, and grew; he placed his hand above it and it became taller, as if reaching out towards him in turn. He felt a weight on the top of his boots and looked down to see that Aithusa was watching his efforts, her eyes wide with excitement. She did not flinch back when sparks flew out and glanced off her hide. He recalled Junius' words: _Fire is comforting to us._ The fire was now larger than what the collection of wood-scraps below it could have created naturally. 

In one quick motion, he dipped his hand down; flames licked over his fingers, but did not burn, instead chasing away the night's chill and warming his hand right down to the bone. Another burst of magic, of a gentler nature, to mould rather than create; the fire changed shape around his fingers. Aithusa bent close, her snout nearly touching the fire. Merlin thought of the caves, of the rasp of scales, of wingbeats and clear skies. 

"It's me!" squeaked Aithusa. Merlin hadn't had any specific dragon in mind, but on closer inspection, he had to admit that the fire-dragon he'd conjured matched Aithusa's conformation. As the notion solidified in his mind, the fire-dragon grew clearer, until Aithusa was looking at a mirror-image of herself, made out of fire. 

Aithusa sniffed at the fire-dragon, who copied the movement. She circled it, delighted, and even flapped her wings to see its effect on the flames being held in shape by Merlin's magic. Merlin responded by feeding the fire-dragon a sharp burst of power, enough to briefly turn the fire-dragon from a cheerily burning red-gold to - ow, maybe he should have closed his eyes first - a bright, intense blue-white.

Eyes large, Aithusa leaned forward, perfectly unafraid. When her snout touched the fire-dragon's, the latter shimmered; Merlin felt a strange pulsing in the magic of the spell, and something not unlike an echo through the stream of power he was feeding to it. 

"It does not smell like fire, at all," said Aithusa, right before spreading her jaws, pulling in a breath, and-

"Did she just," Merlin blinked, " _Eat_ the fire?"

"She absorbed the magic, yes," said Kilgarrah. "It is one of the protections offered by the bond between dragonlord and Great Dragon. Though, in this case, it would be as if you were to eat a part of your body; it would not nourish you. Her magic recognizes yours in a similar manner. If she'd absorbed a spell from another sorcerer, however, her magic would be strengthened by it."

 

~*~

 

Arthur pushed his way through the crowd. Merlin had an easier time of it - people stepped back the moment they recognized Arthur. Merlin saw a couple of guards hurrying towards them. Gwaine appeared, right on Merlin's heels, and the number of gawkers decreased even further when they saw his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

"Sire," gasped a thin, reedy voice. Merlin got to the centre of the crowd and stared at the young man lying on the ground. He knew, with one look, that the man would not survive until nightfall. He wasn't sure how the man had lasted this long - the human torso was not meant to look like _that_.

"We will get you help," promised Arthur. Louder, he ordered, "Somebody fetch Gaius!"

"Sire," the young man repeated. He obviously knew that he didn't have long. He grabbed Arthur's hand. There was a collective gasp when the onlookers saw that the man's hands were a motley of colours, crusted with something that looked eerily like _scales_. Arthur, to his credit, didn't flinch, just closed his other hand on top of the man's. 

"What did this?" asked Arthur.

"We didn't see it, at first," said the young man. "It happened so quickly. One moment, the skies were clear and the sun was shining, and then it was clouding over, but we didn't think anything of it, until the screaming started and I looked _up_." He coughed; it was a wet, half-choking sound, and Merlin refused to imagine what it suggested about the state of the man's insides. The outsides were plenty gruesome. "It was - there were men, circling the village, but they didn't do anything - it was a cloud, or looked like one, and then there was rain, except it weren't water, because it _hurt_ \- and then _she_ came, right in the middle of the downpour."

"Who?" asked Merlin, though he already knew the answer.

A gurgling sound came from the man's chest, and the scent of death rose up, and cold like fog in forgotten forests. "Morgana."

 

~*~

"I have heard similar disturbing rumours from the lands along Camelot's borders," said Kilgarrah darkly. "There are spells which can transform the body, as you already know, but they are usually directed at one specific person. I have never heard of one used to kill, and in such numbers."

"Is there any way you can find out what Morgana is up to?" asked Merlin.

"It would be difficult, unless I witness her casting the spell itself. But I will see what I can find out."

"Thank you, old friend."

Kilgarrah nodded, then sighed and swung his tail sharply. Merlin heard an indignant squeak; Aithusa streaked out from under the older dragon's wings, and attempted to hide behind Merlin, even though she was already the size of a horse.

"It is fortunate that the dragons in Camelot are used to you," said Kilgarrah, long-suffering. "Aithusa has commendable enthusiasm for gaining knowledge, but is often disinclined to conduct herself with the dignity expected of a dragonlord."

Merlin frowned. "You mean, as a dragonlord's Great Dragon?" Which was a mouthful.

"To dragons, a dragon and their handler are one and the same," said Kilgarrah. "There are words written, as a reminder, just inside the main entrance to the Covert-Under-The-City."

Merlin nodded, remembering. "Man and dragon intertwined."

"You are the dragonlord; Aithusa is the dragonlord." He nodded in the general direction of the city. "The King is Camelot; the dragonlord is Camelot; the dragons are Camelot."

 

~*~

 

The southern border of Camelot was mainly marked by a range of hills and cliffs, but there was one portion that was more of a gentle slope, covered by thick forest and two wide streams, effectively creating a pass. The dragons flew along the border once, twice, their riders seeing nothing out of the ordinary. 

Then, a dark shape leapt up from between the trees. 

"They have a dragon!" Merlin cried out. 

The markings were of a Malachite Reaper, male, but the body was malnourished and under-sized. The man on the dragon's back looked little better off. Decima let out a low rumble of concern; in front of Merlin, Percival laid a reassuring hand on his dragon's neck. Elpis, who’d been flying some distance away, more focused on the forest rather than the hills, quickly winged back towards Decima.

Decima and Elpis flew straight at the other dragon, then changed direction just before falling within reach of the Reaper’s claws, Elpis going right and Decima going left. They'd trained to go against enemy dragons, as a matter of course, but for all that the Reaper seemed physically outmatched by either of the Camelot dragons, Merlin suddenly felt underprepared for an aerial battle; the Reaper's claws looked extremely sharp, the snapping jaws vicious.

The dragon was smart, too. He knew that he couldn’t confront either of the Camelot dragons directly, so he would charge at them and twist away at the last moment. Merlin started when something went whistling past his ear. The arrow glanced harmlessly off Percival’s chainmail. Decima somehow knew what had happened, because she roared in rage at the threat to her handler and flung herself after the Reaper.

They managed to strike while the Reaper was occupied with Elpis. The enemy dragon couldn’t turn around in time, and screeched out in pain when Decima’s claws found his sides.

The Reaper brought his wings in and managed to dislodge the Chequered Nettle, then turned to flee over the border. Decima was about to give chase when Merlin noticed something was wrong with Elpis.

“Percival!” he cried, thumping the Knight on the shoulder. “Elpis is hurt.”

Black dragon blood dripped from Elpis’ flank. She was drooping in mid-air, and Merlin could hear Leon calling to her, trying to twist around and see the wound.

“We have to get her back to Camelot,” said Merlin. Percival nodded.

“I can fly,” insisted Elpis. “It is nothing.”

For once, Merlin was glad to pretend he couldn’t understand dragon-speech. “Percival, Leon, we have to get back to Camelot as fast as the dragons can fly,” he shouted, hoping Leon would be able to hear him. “If Elpis lands now, she may not be able to fly again until she heals properly, and there may be other enemies lying in wait, this close to the border.”

“Perhaps Decima will be able to support her for a brief time if she needs some rest,” said Percival.

Merlin nodded. He wasn’t entirely sure how effective it would be – Decima was larger than Elpis, but not by much – yet the words seemed to give the Yellow Reaper heart. She beat her wings hard, rising, clearly struggling for it, and then the two dragons turned around and made the desperate flight back to Camelot.

 

~*~

 

"It's all right, my dear," murmured Leon, pressing his face into Elpis' neck. The dragon was quiet, save for the occasional pained whimper. Leon just kept up a steady stream of reassurances; his hands, still black with dragon blood, ran over her neck obsessively.

Finally, after what felt like an eon, Gaius straightened and announced that he'd finished stitching her wounds. "Now she needs rest, and as much food as she can be persuaded to eat."

Leon nodded fervently, with the look of a man who was willing to march a herd of cattle right down his dragon's gullet if need be. His cloak was torn and there was blood on his face as well as his arms. Merlin met Arthur's eyes and knew that they were of the same mind: there would be no shifting Leon from Elpis' side in the foreseeable future.

A flap of wings, followed by the muffled sound of a dragon landing - Decima and Percival had returned. Percival looked as stoic as ever, but Merlin could see how tightly he was gripping Decima's harness. 

Gwaine and Elyan shared a look, then strode off in different directions. Elyan loudly asked Arthur for permission to set up a temporary lean-to in the courtyard and, when granted it, sent for the nearest carpenters. Gwaine was gone for several minutes and came back with cloth rags and a couple of buckets, full of water. Arthur wordlessly took one of the buckets and a few pieces of cloth. Together, following a nod of approval from Gaius, they began cleaning off the dirt and dried blood from Elpis' hide.

Merlin hied himself off to the kitchens. He ran into Gwen on the way there, and told her what had happened. Gwen being Gwen, Merlin found himself carrying a tray stacked with food back out to the courtyard. Gwen, following close behind him, sent out a messenger for some fresh-butchered beef. 

When they reached Elpis, Gwen let out a soft, "Oh, Leon," and took a moistened cloth from Gwaine. She gently wiped Leon's face clean, and then his hands. Arthur watched her, eyes soft and adoring. Merlin breathed past the tightness in his chest; it helped, more than anything else, to know that she would make a great queen, exactly the one that Camelot needed.

"You should eat, Leon," he cajoled the Knight. "It won't help Elpis if you fall ill."

Elpis blinked and gave Leon a pointed look. Leon sighed, picking up a still-warm roll from Merlin's tray. 

 

~*~

 

Hours later, though it felt like days, Merlin tiredly washed his hands and face, and changed his clothing. Gaius was not in the outer chamber; likely collecting supplies from the market, if the missing bag was any indication. Elpis looked fast asleep out in the courtyard, sprawled out over the cobblestones, bales of hay providing some form of comfort and support. Leon sat leaning against her side. From the slumped posture and lack of movement, Merlin assumed that he'd dropped off to sleep as well.

He was not the least bit surprised to find Percival in Decima's cave. The Knight started at seeing Merlin.

"She would have let you know if I was an intruder," said Merlin lightly. 

Percival shrugged. He looked about him uncertainly, then sat down on the floor. To his visible surprise, and Merlin's amusement, Decima snorted and nudged him a little to the side so she could lie down and have his back resting against her.

"Is it always like that," Percival asked quietly, looking at Decima with an unreadable expression, "When one of them gets hurt?"

"For those who care," answered Merlin. "Many of the old handlers didn't." The words caught in his throat: _the dragons had been in pain, and it was I who had to comfort them; I did what I could but it never seemed enough._ He'd never understood until now. _The ones who were dying always cried out for their handlers before the end._

Percival seemed to read his thoughts, anyway; the Knight's expression hardened. He didn't say anything, though.

"I sleep here sometimes, you know," Merlin volunteered. "Otho doesn't mind. Well, I think he doesn't notice."

Percival nodded. "I think I'll do that tonight."

"I'll, um, I'll go down and see the other dragons," said Merlin.

He was nearly out the cave when Percival asked, "They're ferals, aren't they? Some of the dragons down there."

Merlin winced. "Some," he shrugged, helplessly. A part of him still worried, but the tone in Percival's voice, and the memory of Leon choosing to sleep out in the open rather than be separated from Elpis, told him that these men, at least, were _safe_.

"No, it's..." a small smile, unexpected, appeared on Percival's face, "I'm glad. I would do the same, now." He nodded at Merlin. "Leon knows. I'm sure Gwaine has guessed. Don't worry about Elyan."

No mention of Arthur. It fit the pattern of Merlin's life: the one person whose good opinion he yearned for, whose decision mattered, was the one who could not be told without changing everything.

 

~*~

 

"Taking a break, Merlin?" 

Arthur's voice snapped Merlin's eyelids open. He blinked blearily up at his King, who was peering down at him with a look of concern. Arthur himself looked exhausted: there were dark shadows under his eyes, and he was massaging his right arm, over a scar left by an enthusiastic enemy swordsman, which acted up whenever Arthur spent too many hours at his desk. 

The two of them must make a picture, Merlin thought. He straightened up, wincing, and realized that he was still holding the hilt of Arthur's sword in one hand, though the polishing stone had been dropped to the floor. 

"At least I know that prospective thieves won't be able to simply steal my sword right under your nose," said Arthur wryly. Ah, that probably also explained why Arthur opted to wake him up verbally, when at any other time he would have tugged on Merlin's hair or flicked his ear. Over the years, half the citadel had witnessed, at one point or another, Merlin being rudely awakened from an impromptu nap and the mad, semi-conscious flailing that followed. Arthur had probably considered the edged weapon in Merlin's clutches and decided not to take a chance.

“It’s been a long day,” was all Merlin said. It got him a raised eyebrow – which, fair enough, Merlin’s day was hectic but at least the wellbeing of an entire kingdom wasn’t resting on his shoulders.

“There’s been more reports of people going missing in the far villages, and wild creatures that nobody can see,” said Arthur, rubbing his eyes and sitting on his bed. To Merlin’s surprise, Arthur beckoned Merlin to take a seat on his chair. “Tell me how the dragons are doing, then. Take both our minds off things.”

 

~*~

 

It was no longer unusual to come across one or more of the Knights when he visited the covert these days. Merlin followed the sound of voices to the upper level, where he found Leon and Percival walking up and down the line of caves, tapping and inspecting the walls closely. 

"Merlin!" said Leon, when he caught sight of him. "We were just about to look for you. Percival thinks that this part of the wall is a great deal newer than the rest of the cave on this level." He pointed at the very far wall, which was effectively the end of the passageway. 

"I believe that used to lead to the outside," said Merlin, after considering their location relative to the hill. "An alternative entrance to allow the harnessed dragons to come and go as they pleased. In fact, the covert used to have many entrances and exits, not just the one below. They were all blocked up during Uther's time." He paused, then added, "The covert used to be a lot bigger, too."

Leon and Percival shared a look. Merlin thought of a few scrolls and texts he could plausibly be quoting from; as always, however, the Knights simply accepted the information he gave them. Merlin was never sure whether to be relieved or concerned that everyone seemed to be taking his knowledge of dragons for granted, without questioning how he came by it.

"Otho mentioned that you've been helping him clear out the unused areas of the covert," said Leon.

Both Knights were radiating a restlessness that, if they'd been Arthur, would have had Merlin laying out the Prince's practice garments and looking for his own subject-to-battery-from-His-Grouchness makeshift armour. Merlin thought about Elpis, recovering well from her injuries but still grounded until Gaius decided her muscles could handle flight once more. 

He took in Leon; the Knight's clothing was painstakingly neat in a way Leon had been unable to maintain once he started flying regularly. Merlin imagined Aithusa getting hurt, Aithusa possibly dying.

Swallowing heavily, Merlin said, "A lot of the lower caves need work. Come on."

The central passageway was busy when they walked down to it; the next group was on their way out for their feeding. They stood back to let the line of dragons pass. Merlin couldn't see Otho, but the old man's grumblings were echoing off the stone walls, at the head of the dragons. Hespy and most of the dragons nudged Merlin affectionately when they saw him, except for Cesan, who pointedly hurried past the men, his wings twitching with agitation. 

Merlin led the Knights down the passage, in the direction the dragons had come from. Instead of going down to the lower levels, however, he stayed close to the wall to his right. It looked as if the central passageway ended not far from the downward path towards the unharnessed dragons' domain. 

"Another blockage?" said Leon.

"This part, too, is newer than the stone around it," said Percival, running a large hand over the rough surface. 

"There's a gap here," said Merlin, grabbing the nearest lit torch and squeezing into a half-hidden corner between the blockage and what might have been the remains of a statue. The gap had been more of a hole when Merlin had first found it; he'd made it bigger, using his magic, until he became worried that he'd bring the rest of the blockage down, or possibly the roof.

Merlin and Leon could slip through fairly comfortably, but it was a bit of a squeeze for Percival. On the other side, the puny light of Merlin's torch only made the dark seem more oppressive.  
"I'm sure there's a whole network of passages and caves down here," said Merlin. "Perhaps, given enough time..." he shrugged.

He took them back out, and then down to level one below-the-main. 

"These are the old quarters for the ground-crew," said Merlin, waving a hand over a dark doorway that led to a series of rooms. It had been blocked off, too, but only with wooden planks instead of rock, which had been fairly easy for Merlin to remove. "The ceiling has come down in some parts, I'm not sure how stable everything is. But, I thought, if it can be cleaned up and made liveable, it can serve as a rest area for anybody using the covert."

Leon nodded. "Where are the shovels?"

 

~*~

 

"How is Leon?" 

Merlin's head snapped up, and he tried to look as if he hadn't been napping at Arthur's desk. Again. Arthur did not even comment on it, though, merely strode into the room and changed into his sleeping clothes with mechanical movements.

"A lot better, especially once Gaius estimated that Elpis will be able to fly again in a week."

Arthur let out a long breath. "Good. That's... good."

Merlin climbed to his feet and poured water into a cup, which he brought to Arthur. The King stared at the cup as if he couldn't quite work out what it was for. Merlin wordlessly guided Arthur over to the bed, and prompted him to sit with a gentle push down one shoulder.

"I still have paperwork to go over," protested Arthur.

 _Your eyes are already half-shut_ , Merlin wanted to tell him. Instead, he said, "Drink your water. And then sleep."

The cup was summarily drunk, but Arthur made noise about feeling refreshed and needing to work more. The fact that Merlin was able to keep him in bed - in a thoroughly appropriate manservant-like capacity! - without even resorting to magic was, Merlin thought, proof enough that Arthur was not fit to be executing his Kingly duties. 

"You can afford to sleep for a few hours, you great dollop!" cried Merlin. "I will _sit_ on you, don't think that I won't."

And he did, because Arthur was stubborn and ridiculous and clearly didn't take his threat seriously. Later, Merlin would also blame his own light-headedness and exhaustion. Arthur's startled gasp at finding himself with lapful of manservant made the mortification waiting in the wings worth it, anyway. 

Arthur swore at Merlin and then flopped back onto his mattress, which Merlin chose to take as a sign of surrender. He felt utterly justified when the Royal Prat started _snoring_ before Merlin even got back to his feet. Of course, this left it up to Merlin to remove Arthur's boots and shove him into a more conventional position on the bed, or at least until the royal head was resting on the royal pillows, and get the blanket over him. 

Merlin checked the fire one last time, and was about to shuffle out when he heard his name. He sighed, but shuffled back to the royal bed. Arthur looked tired and wan, complete with shadows under his eyes. 

"You're swaying on your feet," Arthur informed Merlin. Well, yes, Merlin was on the verge of sleeping where he stood; at least Arthur's room was warm and the floor was relatively clean, which was something to consider when he was a matter of seconds away from sprawling out over it. Then Arthur was sitting up, those were Arthur’s fingers curling around his wrist, tugging. "Just. Sleep."

Arthur was the very image of exhaustion, and yet his grip was unbreakable. But Arthur could always find strength, Merlin thought, when it came to other people. He found himself sprawling out over the clean royal sheets, instead of the floor, his elbow catching something that swore and shoved back, and then he was gone, done, lights out.

 

~*~

 

With Elpis still grounded, Decima was the only dragon available to investigate reports of wyverns picking at a village on the south-eastern border. Merlin had eagerly gone along with Percival; he thought Decima looked happier to have two people aboard. 

The reports were correct: they found a group of five wyverns flying above the village in question. They squawked and scattered the moment they spotted Decima, but three of them didn't go too far. It was a tense aerial stand-off for a while; even three wyverns were no match for a dragon of Decima's size, but they were wily and fast, and Percival was worried that they would draw Decima off in order to attack the village. So Decima stayed close to the village, lashing out with claw and barbed tail whenever a wyvern attempted an attack but refusing to give chase.

Eventually, the wyverns gave up and slunk off, flying away from Camelot just as the sun set.  
The villagers were only happy to give them shelter for night in return for driving the wyverns off. They looked nervous about Decima, but there was no outright fear, which was better than what Merlin was expecting. He overheard whispers of "Sir Percival" and "Knight-of-the-Air"; a couple of children even darted close to stare at Decima, who gazed back with her characteristic calm, until their parents called them away.

"No, thank you," said Percival, when yet another villager offered to put him and Merlin up in their home. "It is custom for us to stay with our dragons, when out in the world."

A farmer pushed forward then and directed them to his fallow field, providing them with blankets and some dinner, and refused to take Percival's coin. 

"This is very pleasant," said Decima, lying down on the grass she had flattened. "But are you sure you do not want to sleep under a roof, Percival? I can stay out here until you return in the morning."

"No, we are quite comfortable," Percival assured her. "Do not worry about us. You give off quite a bit of heat."

"If you're sure," said Decima. She fell asleep quite quickly, obviously worn out by the day's exertions, curled slightly around the two men with one large wing draped over them.

Percival looked as bedraggled and weary as Merlin felt. He was checking the crossbow bolts, his back shifting with the gentle rise and fall of Decima's side. Merlin realized that the Knight had not left her side since fending off the wyverns.

"I hated dragons, you know."

Merlin blinked, unsure if he had heard correctly. "But. You volunteered to become a handler."

Percival shrugged one shoulder. He frowned in the way he usually did when he was carefully considering a thought before speaking it aloud. "Fear is a strange creature. It can come from hatred, or pettiness, or a simple misunderstanding. Sometimes there is no clear reason at all. It can lend one strength, a sense of direction. But over time it is a dark, twisted void that can eat up a person; in the end, it always leaves you less than you were." Decima let out a soft sniffle. Percival gently stroked her side until she shifted slightly and settled back to sleep. Merlin was entranced; this was the longest speech he had ever heard from Percival. "My father's brother was killed by a dragon. I was a lad of seven summers at the time, and he was showing me the different beasts and plants that could be found in the woods near our home."

"We stumbled into a small clearing and found a dragon there. I only remember the terrible screech it made, and then watching its claws tear into my uncle. I always thought..." Percival sighed. "I think now that it must have been scared, and hiding, and we'd startled it. And my uncle was a hunter - he'd had his bow with him that day, and he'd loaded it right before. Perhaps he'd even known that there was a dragon there. I cannot imagine an experienced woodsman could have missed the signs. And it had screeched at us. It wouldn't have done that if it was hunting us. A normal person would have run away. I remember, too, that it didn't eat my uncle, despite what everyone said afterwards, and it never came near me, though I would have been easy prey."

"That is still a horrible thing for a child to witness," Merlin said. He gave up sitting and slid down until he was lying on the ground, his shoulders and head resting on Decima's foreleg.

"For years, I avoided dragons. Cheered at the slaughter of ferals whenever I heard of it. But when Arthur spoke of this matter, my first thought was that I hoped two others would volunteer so I would not be given the position." He looked intently at Merlin. "I have never, in my life, wished another would take a task in my stead that I was fully capable of fulfilling. And there was you."

"Me?"

"You are one of the wisest, most good-hearted men I know, Merlin," said Percival, in his usual blunt way. "When I heard of how fond you are of dragons, and Leon spoke of how you cared for them, going to the covert in secret, I realized that I was still clinging to a child's fear and a child's hatred. A Knight of Camelot ought to be better than that, or at least be willing to learn better. Thus, I volunteered." He smiled fondly over his shoulder at the slumbering dragon. "And I have been rewarded for it thrice over. After all, I know well how it is to be bigger and stronger than those around you, and to be feared unduly for it."

Merlin could only stare at him. He eventually managed a sincere, "I am glad for you both, my friend."

He shifted a little - the ground was hard but Decima was, indeed, remarkably warm, and he'd slept in worse places, _thank you Arthur_ \- and closed his eyes, as if settling to sleep, though his mind was whirring. Percival had always been the solid, dependable Knight. He knew a little of the man's history - his family murdered by Morgause, the furious, harried flight towards Camelot following her destructive army - but Merlin hadn't spent much time with him personally.

He remembered Percival expressing his belief that Decima could understand him. It occurred to Merlin, now, that Merlin had never really had a choice, when it came to dragons. He'd always been able to hear the dragons' speech. Dragons, to him, had always been people, unquestioningly. His destiny had been made known to him first by a dragon calling to him from beneath the city. To ignore that part of himself would have been just as absurd, impossible, as ignoring the way his eyes glowed and how he could move objects with his mind

Percival couldn't hear Decima's words, and yet he had gazed into the dragon's eyes and recognized the edged weight of understanding; he had acknowledged that there was someone - a person, a mind - there, gazing back. 

Surely, Merlin thought as sleep stole over his body, with time and patience, others would come to the same realization.

 

~*

 

When Arthur marched into the royal bedroom in a masterful imitation of a functional and dignified leader of men, up until the moment the door clicked shut behind him and he practically collapsed against it, Merlin couldn't help but remember the unexpected bed-sharing of the previous occasion. Luckily, swooping in to prevent Arthur from falling flat on his royal face saved him from having to deal with any possible awkwardness. 

He managed to get Arthur out of his boots, shirt, and under the covers with only minimal mutterings of unfinished paperwork and, bizarrely, a siege involving inkwells. Arthur looked even more exhausted than before, which was Merlin's excuse for letting his guard down and, thus, not expecting the hand that suddenly grabbed his wrist and yanked him down onto the bed.

Merlin wasn't as tired, he could have easily gotten back to his room, but he counted Arthur's grip as a worthy counter-argument. Besides, it wasn't as if there was any harm to this - it was perfectly innocent, absolutely nothing had happened the previous time other than sleeping, and nothing would _ever_ happen. Other than sleeping.

Well, and snoring. Merlin half-heartedly kicked at Arthur's leg.

"The paperwork issue is getting ridiculous, though," Merlin informed the canopy above Arthur's bed.

The next day, he spotted the Knights on the training field and ambled over to them.

He didn't even see the arrow; he _did_ hear someone's squawk of protest, and Gwaine bellowing, "Try that again, and the next dagger goes through your hand, and I'll make sure you remain a squire for life!"

"You can't do that!" shouted a young man at the far end of the - oh, Merlin had cut right across the target practice area. 

"Funny you think that," retorted Gwaine. "You seem to be new, so pay attention. This is _King Arthur's manservant_ \- my next threat would have been to tell the King and let _him_ decide your punishment."

"You know that Arthur throws things at me on a daily basis, right?" said Merlin bemusedly, after the unlucky squire had trotted over, stiltedly apologized, and found reason to be at a different part of the training field. 

"Yes, but he will also battle fearsome monsters to rescue you," said Elyan.

"Besides, every word I said was true," said Gwaine. 

Fair point. Merlin cleared his throat and told them the reason he was there: "Arthur needs help with his paperwork."

Leon and Elyan looked at each other. 

"I keep offering to help, but he insists that he can manage," said Leon.

Elyan smiled. "I'll get Gwen on it."

Gwaine and Percival shared a look. "Paperwork is not exactly our strong suit, so we're going to-" Gwaine made a vague gesture towards the citadel.

There was a not-quite-awkward pause, and then Merlin nodded, because it seemed like he was expected to. He watched the two Knights walk away, blinking. "Are they...?"

It wouldn't be surprising, because _Gwaine_ , and Percival had always had a soft spot for him. But it made Merlin uncomfortably aware of how little attention he'd been paying, lately, to anything that didn't involve Aithusa.

"No one knows," said Leon, which was worth noting, since Leon knew what everyone was up to, sometimes even before they did. "Let's get started on this paperwork situation. It'll be much harder for Himself to kick us out once we've sorted the lot and refuse to explain what the system is."

Merlin chuckled and led the way, telling himself that he was doing the sensible thing, because looking after Arthur was his job, and he was not at all disappointed at the thought that a more rested Arthur would no longer be forcing Merlin to sleep on his stupidly comfortable bed.

 

~*~

 

Merlin could hear the hammering from well outside the covert. His ears led him to one level above-the-main, where the harnessed dragons' caves were located. There, he found a dust-covered Percival setting down a sizable shovel and Leon trundling out a barrow full of shattered rock. 

"We asked Arthur if we could unblock the opening on this level," explained Leon. "He gave us permission, and Otho agreed as well."

Arthur wouldn't need Merlin again until dinner-time, and Merlin would likely be sent out on errands by Gaius if he hung around the citadel. And Aithusa would have to come to the covert at some point, though he still hadn't figured out how that was to happen; it would be nice to clean it up for her. He loosened the cloth around his neck and went to fetch a shovel for himself.

 

~*~

 

"Gaius," said Leon, stumbling in through the door. His voice sounded odd, and his face was pale. "I think I may be going mad."

"Sir Leon," said Gaius, before tossing a glare at Merlin because clearly Merlin was to be blamed for all the kingdom's ills, "You seem perfectly lucid to me. Perhaps if you list your symptoms, I may be able to ease your concerns."

The Knight allowed himself to be ushered into a chair, and accepted a cup of watered wine. "It was. I went to the covert this morn, to check on Elpis, just as I have done every day since I became a dragon-captain. Nothing seemed amiss, and she was perfectly normal last night, and I haven't been drinking or eating anything unusual. I looked in on her, and-" He blinked, and downed all the wine in one go.

"And?" prompted Gaius gently.

Leon took several measured breaths. His face seemed intent on reaching the color of his hair. "She- You will not tell Arthur?"

"I do not reveal the ailments of my patients to others without said patient's knowledge and consent," Gaius assured him. "Not even to the King." He glanced towards Merlin. "I can ask Merlin to leave, if you'd prefer."

Merlin stood up, but Leon shook his head. "No, no, it's probably better for him to hear this, as it concerns the dragons." The Knight looked at Merlin. "Have... have you... _heard_ any odd things in the covert?"

"Heard?" asked Merlin, frowning. "There are many unknown and unexplored areas in the lower levels. There are places where you can hear the flowing of water or the shifting of unstable rock."

"It is not that." Leon sighed. "At first I thought it a prank, it's the sort of thing Gwaine would enjoy doing. But he's out in the quarries today, I saw no sign of another person, and Master Otho was out in the Claw."

There was a shuffling sound at the door, and they all turned to see Percival standing there. He took in their faces and said, "Oh, thank the gods, I am not the only one, then?"

 

~*~

 

" _We_ didn't do anything!" protested Elpis. She had squeezed into Decima's cave, since it was larger than her own. Merlin walked between the two dragons, while Gaius and the two Knights stood uncertainly near the entrance.

"And there was nothing... odd, during the night?" asked Merlin. 

"This is quite extraordinary,” said Gaius. He made his way over to Elpis and began examining her mouth. “It happened overnight?”

"I heard the usual noises, growls and such, only yesterday," said Leon, "But now - it is not as if I'm suddenly making sense of the noises I'd been hearing before. Her words are perfectly clear."

"Decima, could you say something to Leon?" requested Percival.

The Chequered Nettle turned her head to regard the other Knight. She seemed the least perturbed out of all of them; where Elpis was radiating excitement mixed with concern, Decima had watched the proceedings with no more than a thoughtful mien. "Thank you for the sheep you got for us last week, it was very kind of you."

Percival frowned and turned to look at Leon. Leon ducked his head, muttered, "You're welcome," clearly embarrassed. To Percival, he said, "They deserved a treat for all these extra flights lately, and those particular sheep were from my family's estates."

"Merlin, what is happening?" whispered Elpis; unfortunately, given the dragons' size, every word was still audible in the enclosed space. On the other side, Decima asked, "Did I say something wrong?"

How to explain to dragons that people were a bit prickly about differences in wealth? That Leon had gone and given Decima something that Percival would not have been able to afford quite so easily? Leon's sense of fairness would not have allowed him to supplement Elpis' food when Decima, who'd done the same amount of work, would not be getting the same. He'd clearly hoped that his friend would not find out about it. And Percival likely knew that Leon only wanted to spare him both the embarrassment and the expense. 

"You have embarrassed them," said a gruff voice from the passageway. Every head except for Gaius' turned to regard the dragon lurking there. "Men can be just as foolish and jealous about their possessions as dragons are. It is like that time with Taran and Grainne's amulet."

"Oh," said the two younger dragons. 

Merlin continued to stare in surprise. "Junius? But... you never go higher than the main level!"

"It is a nice day," said the old Anglewing mildly. "Perhaps the weather is changing."

It _was_ quite sunny, but Merlin got the feeling that the dragon was talking about something else.

"So," said Leon, "they _all_ talk."

"Yes," said Merlin.

Leon gave him a shrewd look. "And you've been able to hear them, all this time."

"Yes."

"Is it just familiarity with the dragons? Do people start understanding them after they've spent a certain amount of time with them?" Leon frowned. "What about Master Otho?"

"I've asked him," Merlin said. "He's never given me a straight answer. I think he _can_ understand them, but whether it is in the same manner, I do not know."

“Yes,” said Kilgarrah, when he came to bring Merlin to Aithusa. “Dragon-speech is partly rooted in magic. Great Dragons can always be understood, but the common breeds require the presence of a dragonlord to act as a bridge between the two different magics. Men being able to understand the speech of dragons is but one of the effects of a true dragonlord living in Camelot once more.”

 

~*~

 

"We must send a message to the other kings," said Arthur decisively, steps quickening, "I don't know what Morgana is planning, but she's always focused on Camelot. If her actions are starting to affects the other nations, it is our duty to at least give them fair warning of what she is capable of."

Merlin opened his mouth to let Arthur know that they'd left behind his entourage of advisors two passageways previous - Arthur had a habit of picking up his pace when he was thinking aloud - and then came a loud, " _Sorcery_!"

"That sounded like Agravaine," said Arthur. A moment later, Merlin was staring as Arthur's cloak disappeared around a corner.

They found Agravaine standing in the courtyard, along with Elpis and Decima and their two Knights. To Merlin's alarm, there was a ring of guards around the dragons. Leon and Percival, who had dismounted but not left their dragons' sides, merely looked puzzled.

"What is the meaning of this?" asked Arthur.

"Sorcery!" Agravaine exclaimed again. Merlin was proud of himself for barely twitching; but then, Agravaine did not possess anywhere near the bladder-endangering presence of a raging Uther. "All of you heard it! What sort of trickery is this?" The last was directed at Leon and Percival.

Over the pounding of his heart, Merlin noted that, one, Gwaine and Elyan had also shown up, placing themselves outside the ring of guards, and; two, all of Arthur's Knights were wearing identical bland, unsurprised expressions. Unlike the guards, who were slowly realizing that they had a Knight on either side of them, and looked increasingly nervous about it. Merlin thought he saw the guards nearest to Gwaine discreetly attempting to shuffle inwards, _towards_ the dragons. 

It was the Knights' faces that made Merlin suspicious, however - they were all too different from one another to react to anything in such an eerily similar manner. Which meant that this had been _planned_. Agravaine clearly saw nothing unusual, leaving Merlin to wonder how the Knights acted around people who weren't him or Arthur. 

"What do you mean, my lord?" Elyan eventually asked.

Agravaine glared at him. "Did you not hear it, man? That dragon just _spoke_!" He pointed at Decima.

Percival frowned. "Are they not supposed to?"

"Of course they're not supposed to!" Agravaine looked ready to start frothing at the mouth. "They're animals!"

"They are _dragons_ , my lord," said Percival, as if he genuinely believed that this fact had escaped Agravaine's attention.

" _I know that_." Agravaine glowered; Merlin could see the storm of anger building... and then crashing helplessly against the Great Wall of Percival. 

"What is happening?" Elpis whispered to Leon, her words perfectly audible to everyone in the courtyard.

Their King looked like something had hit him right on the brain, but he rallied magnificently. "I'm not sure what you expect me to do, uncle."

"The dragons are speaking!"

"So I heard."

"Dragons _do not speak_."

"I have always been able to converse with them," Merlin chipped in. "Um, my lord."

Agravaine looked on the verge of throwing something at him, or having him arrested for impertinence. But he also seemed to grow aware of all the eyes now trained on them - of how all activity in the busy courtyard had screeched to a halt - and glared at a number of courtiers, all of whom looked confused and unsettled. Eventually, Agravaine muttered under his breath and left, coat snapping.

Arthur stared after his uncle, then turned and bore down on Merlin. "Everyone. In my chambers," he ordered, voice low and dangerous. " _Now_."

 

~*~

 

"Will someone explain to me what just happened out there?" 

"The dragons can speak," said Leon.

It was somewhat alarming, how much Arthur's glare was reminiscent of Uther's. "You tried to make a fool out of my uncle. Who is one of my most trusted advisors, and a Lord of Camelot. You are _Knights_ , not street-children, or so I thought."

"To be fair," said Gwaine, "not one untrue word was spoken."

" _Gwaine_ -"

"We broke no oaths," the Knight continued, fearless as a man with a death-wish. "In fact, one of a Knight's most important duties, so I have been led to understand, is protecting the innocent, which we certainly did."

"What _innocent_ -" Arthur's eyes widened, mouth snapping shut.

"Arthur," Elyan stepped in. "No one, with the exception of Merlin here, has seen a dragon in years, much less interacted with one."

Merlin saw the moment when Arthur began to understand what the Knights were trying to do.

"Their kind has been hunted down, the ones under harness treated cruelly," said Leon. "Who could blame them for keeping silent?"

It was a long shot, but the alternative had surely occurred to Arthur, especially where it would lead. 

_Magic._

Arthur stalked over to his window and gazed outside. Merlin couldn't help noting the tense line of his back, his shoulder, and hated, suddenly, how his secrets always hurt Arthur. 

But then, if they didn't, he wouldn't be keeping them secret.

Finally, Arthur said, "My father knew. He must have, even if he never said anything to me. And not even he dared to do away with the covert. No, I understand what you're doing, and why. I do not have to like it, but I do understand. And-" he hesitated, glancing around the room as if to make certain it was really only them there, "-my hands are not entirely blameless, on the matter of- choices made to protect the innocent." 

He let out a long breath, rubbing tiredly at his forehead. "Just - next time, give me some warning, please."

 

~*~

 

Merlin followed the sound of voices, curious. It led him down to the holding chamber, and the sight that greeted him there stopped him short at the threshold.

All of Arthur’s Knights were sitting or lying on the ground, some on top of blankets, in a loose circle with a fire burning merrily in the middle. The fire was in a wide, flat bowl that Merlin last saw in one of the old ground-crew storage rooms. Around the men were dragons, perhaps half a dozen; Merlin instantly recognized Junius and Pliny and Hespy and Grainne and, of course, Decima and Elpis.

“Merlin!” said Pliny excitedly. “Come join us!”

Merlin smiled at the Greyling. He looked around him and settled on a space between Gwaine and Elyan. “Should I ask how this started?”

“Well,” said Elyan, “First, I noticed that Leon was practically living here, so I decided to keep him company when I could. Then Percival began sleeping here as well, and Gwaine showed up wondering where we all went. And the dragons were very happy to talk to us, so we kind of just,” he made a vague gesture, “Congregated.”

“We figured you would come by eventually,” said Gwaine, stretching lazily over his blanket. Merlin was sure the way Gwaine’s undershirt rode up to expose his abdomen was very deliberate. “Even though you’re not spending nearly as much time in the covert as you make Arthur think you are.”

Merlin flushed, floundering for an explanation. But then Hespy said, “Hush, Junius was telling us about what some of the carvings on the walls mean.”

"Indeed," said Junius, "As I was saying - once, the King’s dragonlord needed only sound the call of battle, and all the dragons in Camelot would fly to answer his summons. The Covert-Under-The-City was but one haven among of many, home to the most worthy of our kind."

Merlin laid down on his front, listening to the soothing rumble of Junius’ voice. A part of him had never dared to hope that he could have _this_ : all his friends, both human and dragon, talking, gathered close in a cosy cave. The only ones missing were the two most important people – but that could be a wish for another day. For now, Merlin was content.

Naturally, this was when things went wrong.

 

~*~

 

Merlin crashed into the ground hard enough that his breath was punched out of his lungs. He wheezed and coughed, spitting out bits of leaves and dirt. Adrenaline got him back on his feet, or close enough, and he scrambled to one side seconds before a horse rode over exactly where he'd been lying. 

Men were shouting, all around him, and there were far too many swords and hooves and flying arrows; he'd gotten better at keeping his head during fights over the years, but he wasn't any happier about being caught in one. There was a _clang_ of swords meeting, and Merlin ducked out of the way of Gwaine's wild swing, the Knight's sword coming within inches of Merlin's head. 

"Out of the way!" called Gwaine, as he and the two mercenaries he'd taken on staggered past. He added, because by this point the Knights probably knew Merlin better than most people, "Arthur's by that big rock over there."

"Thanks!" Merlin slipped past the fighting trio. Gwaine had on armour and his favorite sword; two opponents would be only be invigorating for him. He'd made it clear, as well, that while Merlin's assistance was welcomed for escaping public brawls, in direct combat Merlin would serve him best by keeping out of the way.

The woods here were too dense for the dragons to land, but Merlin could hear them far above, dark shapes passing over the treetops. He darted towards a small, rocky hillock overlooking a deep valley. Sure enough, he picked out Arthur's voice issuing orders to his men, and spotted the familiar golden mop in the next moment. The King really ought to be less conspicuous, Merlin thought. It seemed the universe agreed with him because, suddenly, there was a great bellowing battle-cry, and a giant of a man came barrelling in, his sheer bulk knocking aside the men surrounding Arthur like they were a crowd in a tavern standing between Gwaine and his lemon pastries. 

Merlin had a second to calculate the man's trajectory and Arthur's position, coming up with, _cliff_ , and he was moving before he could come up with an actual plan. His magic, reacting, sped him along; he could only hope that he wasn't leaving a trail of golden sparks or glowing anywhere noticeable. He reached Arthur not a moment too soon. A glimpse of wide blue eyes, the familiar shape of Arthur's armour under his hands, and he was yanking his King back just as the attacker bowled through the inner ring of the King's protective guard.

Rough hands scrabbled at them. Merlin shoved Arthur to one side, out of the way, but the attacker's fingers managed to catch onto Merlin's neck handkerchief. He pushed Merlin towards the yawning gap in the ground; Merlin grabbed the meaty wrist in retaliation. If Merlin was going to be tossed off a cliff, he was definitely taking his opponent with him.

It was more of a scuffle than any kind of proper fighting. Which suited Merlin just fine. He twisted aside to avoid a punch. His feet skidded over the ground, trying to find purchase. He could hear Arthur shouting. And then Merlin's boots were kicking above a great deal of empty air. 

A heavy blanket of fog lurked at the bottom of the valley, obscuring it from sight. Should Merlin use his magic to slow his descent, once he was no longer visible to the people on the hill? He was envisioning where to apply his magic on his muscle-happy opponent when the very air shivered around him. The other man looked around, eyes narrowed.

Another shiver, followed by a gust of wind. A familiar leathery flapping. Merlin had time to think, _I know those wings_ , gut sinking, right before the great white shape rose from the fog. Aithusa looked like a ghost between the grey skies above and the cloud-like bed below. 

Merlin's attacker must have thought the same, because something that sounded more like a prayer than a curse slipped from his lips, the eyes beneath bushy eyebrows bulging. 

The great white head leaned towards the men, graceful. Merlin had known Aithusa from the egg, had fed her and played with her, and he thought that a part of him would always think of her as a hatchling small enough for him to carry. It was always a surprise when, like now, he was confronted with what other men saw, which featured details such as her teeth being bigger than his hand and the hint of fire in her breath.

"Let him go," she growled. "On the ground. Safely."

The other man visibly swallowed. Stepped back. Merlin exhaled in relief when his feet were back on level ground. The man even brushed him down a little, as if saying, _see, he's fine, no harm done, please don't eat me_.

"Merlin?" Aithusa sniffed at him. She was too large to drift any closer to the cliff, and there was no place for her to land.

"I'm fine," he reassured her.

Then he turned and saw Arthur's face. Or, rather, he saw the absolute lack of expression on Arthur's face, which was somehow worse than vein-popping anger, and he remembered, _right, he'd been_ right there _, of course he saw the whole thing_.


	6. Covert Operations

"I didn't have a home, as you know - didn't want one, was glad to forget the one I came from, though it was never _home_ for me." Gwaine folded his arms over the white sheets and rested his head on them. "I should have run the other way, when I met you. I _knew_ you were going to be trouble, I just didn't know how much."

He chuckled to himself. "Look at what you've brought me to. I can't even pretend I didn't know what I was getting into. I thought, a bit of pining is good for the soul, you know? Keeps the old heart humble. I was happy enough to stay as a friend, keep you out of mischief, because Himself certainly doesn't do a good enough job of it."

"Except you had to go and _care_ , didn't you." Gwaine paused, suddenly realizing he wasn't sure if he was talking to Merlin or to himself. That way lay dragons, and all that, though in this case, actual dragons would be far less perilous. "And now I can't _leave_ , because it's not just you anymore, Elyan owes me gold and Leon needs me to keep him on his toes and Lancelot cannot be allowed to be the good-looking one and Percival, well." He smiled, feeling oddly bashful for some reason. "I guess Arthur's not bad, either, he can at least keep up with me on the swords."

"What I mean to say is - Merlin," he gave into temptation, leaned forward, and curled his fingers around Merlin's cold, unmoving hand, " _Merlin_ , don't you dare leave, because I can't, I've tried - don't tell the others, though I think they guessed - you've hobbled me, there's never supposed to be a world where you can leave when I can't, and _I can't_ , I'm stuck here, _and it's all your fault_."

  


  
**CHAPTER FIVE: COVERT OPERATIONS**   


"You can't be a dragon handler, Merlin!" Arthur's voice rang across the clearing, bouncing off the sloping hillside. A few seconds later, he looked abashed to have raised his voice, though his glare at Merlin only grew hotter.

There was a faint shuffling sound. Otho appeared at the mouth of the covert. His eyes widened when he caught sight of Arthur. "Y-Your Majesty?"

It was dark, and both men were still dishevelled from the fighting earlier, but Merlin saw Arthur visibly switching to the part of himself that was the King, regal as if they were in the throne room. "Apologies for disturbing your rest, Master-"

"Otho," supplied Merlin, automatic.

"Master Otho," Arthur continued smoothly. "I hope we have not stirred up the dragons?"

"No, Sire, they've actually gone quieter than normal, 's why I came out here." Otho's eyes slid over to Merlin. "Sire, if you'll forgive me for speaking out of turn, I'm sure this lad meant no harm, whatever it was he did." 

Merlin's eyes widened; for all that Otho acted as if he suffered Merlin's presence only because he could never actually chase Merlin out of the covert, Merlin had always assumed that the covert-master secretly appreciated him, and it was nice to have some evidence of it. Arthur shot Merlin a look, but he spoke to Otho. "Please return to your rest, Master Otho. This is a matter between my manservant and myself."

"Your manservant?" Otho repeatedly dumbly, blinking at Merlin. Merlin suppressed a wince. Then Otho appeared to remember himself; he bowed and muttered a quick, "Yes, your Majesty," before disappearing back into the covert.

Merlin was willing to bet the year's wages that the old man was simply relocating to the tiny antechamber just inside the covert entrance, where he would still be able to listen in on the conversation.

There was a moment of quiet. Then Arthur said, eyes directed at the far wall, "I was glad, you know, when I first discovered that you came here. That you have a soft spot for the beasts."

Questions sprang up in Merlin's mind. But he was conscious of at least one pair of ears listening in on their conversation, and as always in such circumstances, felt unsure about how familiar he should act towards Arthur. 

Perhaps Arthur guessed from Merlin's reticence that they were not entirely alone, because he continued without Merlin saying anything. "Personal manservants of the royal family have always been allowed a great deal more leeway. And, I thought, you weren't doing any harm. Father never suspected." He sighed heavily. "Now I wonder if I should have intervened at the start. Before you got it into your fool head to steal a beast of your own."

"I did _not_ steal Aithusa," Merlin retorted hotly, all concerns about maintaining an illusion of respectable distance forgotten. "A feral, out in the wild? She would have died on a Knight's blade, the moment someone spotted her without a harness." Merlin stepped back, frowning. "Why are you so against this, Arthur? You have never been anything but supportive of Leon and Percival."

In the silence that followed, it occurred to Merlin that he might have pushed too far, especially when there was a possible witness. Manservants did not yell at their Kings. Arthur's face certainly told him so. But there was something in the other man's expression that went beyond the anger and frustration that the situation warranted. Merlin had had Arthur angry and frustrated with him more than enough times to be able to tell.

"It is the law, Merlin, that the King may grant only a Knight the chance to harness a dragon," said Arthur, voice low and dangerous. He stalked over until he was more or less breathing right into Merlin's face. "Do not forget, for all my indulgences, that you are - and will always be - just a _servant_."

Merlin caught the retaliation that tried to erupt out of his throat. He tempered his instinctive loudness, swallowed it down, and forced himself to serve only the words: "It is _done_. The only thing you can do now is kill us both." Arthur looked away sharply. "And either way, you'll lose her." Merlin did not know if Arthur knew that Great Dragons could survive without their handlers. The result would be the same, in any case - Aithusa would never give her loyalty to the person who'd ordered the death of her master.

A spark of sympathy lit up in Merlin's chest. No matter how much of an arse Arthur still acted, Merlin had stopped enjoying putting him in untenable positions once he'd become King. Too much rested on every decision, every action, and they had no Uther now to curb Arthur's more impulsive tendencies.

Nevertheless. "I'm _sorry_ , my King."

Arthur suddenly stilled. Merlin couldn't meet his eyes, and instead focused on the line of Arthur's shoulder, painfully tense. The night seemed silent but for Merlin's heartbeat, loud in his ears, and Arthur's breathing, erratic, though it seemed strange to Merlin that he could hear it when Arthur seemed so far away.

"Goodnight, Merlin," Arthur finally said, whirling around. Merlin watched him disappear into the line of trees. He couldn't help but think of Gwaine dragging the others out to drink, of Elyan's willingness to listen, of the way Lancelot gave advice without seeming to; it seemed unfair that Arthur, of all people, was the one unhappy and alone. 

 

~*~

 

Gaius, thankfully, waited until Merlin had shuffled out of his bedroom and sat down at the table for breakfast before asking, "What has Arthur said now?"

Merlin blinked blearily. "How do you know it's him?"

"Merlin, you're only ever this tetchy when it comes to Arthur."

Once Merlin was done recounting the events of the previous day, Gaius nodded and looked thoughtful. Merlin braced for an admonishment that he should just be grateful that Arthur wasn't hauling him off to the dungeons, but what Gaius eventually said was: "When Arthur was a boy, he was given this set of carved wooden dragons by a well-meaning merchant. It was a full royal formation, of every breed found in Albion. Beautiful work, yet also sturdy enough for a boy's play. For months, I did not see Arthur without at least one of the dragons in his hand or in his pocket. He had names for all of them." 

Gaius sighed. "Uther ignored it, at first, as he tended to do back then. He was fairly occupied with eradicating magic from Camelot. Then one day he witnessed Arthur speaking to one of the dragon-handlers. I'm sure it did not help that this Knight was suspected of aiding sorcerers, and was disgraced. He was saved from the executioner by his family's wealth and the absence of any solid proof. Uther took Arthur aside, and then Arthur did not emerge from his rooms for the rest of the day. The next morning, the chambermaids whispered that there was a larger pile of ash than usual in the Prince's fireplace. Arthur would not speak of dragons for over a year, and grew angry at any mention of them in his presence." 

Merlin sighed, and rested his head on the tabletop. "Did you know the Queen well? I mean, Arthur's mother?"

"Better than most. I suspect Arthur's told you about her books?"

Merlin looked up. "He told you about her books?"

"Merlin, I was the one who translated the more obscure ones. Arthur didn't want to give them to the scholars. He took down my translations himself."

"Oh. That would explain why Gwen and I have had to muddle through his sorry excuse for penmanship." Something hard hit him on the side of the head. “Ow!”

“You already get away with far more than ordinary servants do,” admonished Gaius. “These things are far more complicated at court, and it is Arthur who has to deal with the repurcussions of your actions, well-intended though they may be. Be patient, and let him come around when he’s ready. Eat your breakfast.”

“Yes, Gaius.”

 

~*~

 

Merlin shifted from foot to foot while Aithusa examined the covert entrance. Now that Arthur knew, there didn't seem to be any point in hiding her away, and some instinct told him that she should be with the other dragons. 

Also, _fine_ , he wanted to have her close by.

"It is not at all unpleasant," said Aithusa, "I do not know why you're so nervous."

"It... isn't?" croaked Merlin. He cleared his throat. "But, it's dark. And underground." He could have waited until the following day to bring her, it was true, but Leon and Percival would likely be around then, and he wanted to avoid that awkward interaction for as long as possible.

"Dragons like caves." Aithusa shifted her shoulders in her equivalent of a shrug. "And it _is_ a bit cold, but-" She reared her head back, an odd rumbling coming from her chest, and Merlin saw a flash of gold from her eyes, and then-

_FWOOOOM_

\- he yelped, stumbling back. The blast of heat had been brief, and mainly made him more aware of the cold after it faded. In any case, he was too busy staring at the _fire_ , Aithusa had _fire_ , of course she did, he wasn't sure why he didn't think of it since he knew Kilgarrah did. The burst of flame streaked forward, momentarily lighting up the main passageway. But after the main body of it faded, Merlin could still see fire along the stone walls, and _of course_ his dragon would set fire to the covert within seconds of entering it; somewhere, Arthur must be unexpectedly recollecting the first time Merlin tried to douse their campfire and nearly lit up the surrounding forest.

He raised a hand to extinguish the flames. Except - the fire was _spreading_ , fast, only it seemed to be tracing a path - no, _lines_ , the fire was following the lines carved into the stone walls. Aithusa had let loose a good way inside the central passageway; Merlin stumbled backwards, towards the entrance, watching wide-eyed as the intricate design came to life: the swirls representing air, then the tail, the hindlegs, the ridges of the spine, the wings; racing along until, for the first time, the entire dragon was visible, golden and ablaze.

Finally, the words along the underbelly, tucked under the scales, as if something vulnerable and protected: **man and dragon intertwined**.

The fire had travelled both ways, and there were several points of light continuing down the central passageway, but Merlin found himself entranced by the dragon on the wall. Because he could finally see the way the dragon faced the entrance, wings flaring back; its posture was _defensive_. Exactly like, Merlin now knew enough to recognize, a dragon defending its home.

Suddenly, the fire flared, growing brightly for a moment. When it settled again, the wall no longer looked like it was on fire; the carved lines glowed, instead, though they continued to give off heat. 

"That is _much_ better," said Aithusa. Merlin numbly made his way back to where he'd left her. 

"How did you know to do that?" asked Merlin.

"Kilgarrah told me that it was something I ought to do. It was how how they kept the covert warm in the past," said Aithusa. "Are you all right? You look a little pale."

"I'm fine. It's just been a tiring day," said Merlin. "All right. Technically, you should have a cell up with Elpis and Decima, as a harnessed dragon, but until we hear something definite from Arthur, it might be best if you go down to the lower levels where the unharnessed dragons are."

"I would like to meet more dragons," said Aithusa agreeably. "I spoke to Elpis and Decima earlier, after the fighting. They told me about some of the others, and that I should not listen do anything Pliny says unless I ask you or Junius about it first."

Merlin laughed. "Words of wisdom, those are. Come on. Then, in the morning, I'll get Otho to put you in the first feeding group and you can get a nice, fresh cow."

 

~*~

 

Arthur was distinctly icy to Merlin over the following days, hardly speaking beyond terse instructions. When Merlin tried to start up a conversation, he threatened to bar Merlin from going to the covert, so Merlin didn't push it. 

No formal announcement was made, but Merlin knew that Arthur must have informed the Knights, as Leon and Percival did not look surprised when they walked into the covert and saw Merlin talking to Aithusa. In fact, none of them acted any differently towards him at all, which Merlin greatly appreciated and also endeared them to Aithusa. 

Aithusa had grown extraordinarily quickly over the few months since her hatching. She’d gone from being small enough for Merlin to carry to nearly the size of Elpis. It occurred to Merlin that he might have had trouble keeping her fed if not for Kilgarrah hunting for the both of them. Merlin had taken the Great Dragon’s assistance all this time for granted, reasoning that Kilgarrah was the one who initiated this entire venture anyway, but he made a point of thanking Kilgarrah the next time he saw him, which the dragon waved off with a casual, “It is not as if this does not benefit me. Besides, there must always be a Great Dragon in the Covert-Under-The-City, and even should all transgressions on both sides be forgiven, still I will not live there again.”

 

~*~

 

"Merlin?"

Elyan poked his head into the low chamber, blinking in the dim light of the single torch Merlin had brought in with him and propped up with a bunch of loose rocks. He looked hesitant, so Merlin smiled tiredly at him and received a relieved one in return. Elyan came closer, ducking slightly to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling.

"Wow, this place is _warm_ ," said the Knight.

"The warmest spot in the covert," said Merlin. "I think there's a natural hot spring behind that wall." He suspected there had been caves all around this area, where dragons could sleep on heated stone, but they had either been collapsed or the passageways to them blocked off. 

"Are those dragon eggs?" asked Elyan, eyes widening.

Merlin grinned. "Yup." Behind them, close to the wall were most of the heat was radiating from, lay eggs of varying shapes and colors. Each egg had its own little nest of packed hay. 

Aithusa was napping. Merlin had felt no inclination to return to the citadel and Arthur's cold distance - it was technically his day off, anyway - and so had retreated to this sanctuary in the covert. 

"Do you know what breeds they are?" Elyan sat down next to Merlin. His voice was gentle, respecting the quiet of the place and the solitude Merlin clearly sought by being there. Merlin thought that it was in such moments, like when Arthur stumbled under the weight of his responsibilities, or now when Merlin was feeling a little lost, that Elyan seemed the most like Gwen: that same, perceptive kindness, and a steadying presence.

"Those two are Yellow Reapers," he said, pointing to a pair of mid-sized eggs. "One is from Nerva and Idius, and the other is from Kell, who died during Morgause's invasion, and Aidan, who also sired Elpis. That one is a Greyling. Next to it is a," he squinted, "A cross between a Bright Copper and a Greyling, huh." It must be from the ferals. Now that Merlin thought about it, he wasn't sure how he knew where the cross-breed egg had come from. He just _knew_ , somehow, as if the history of the egg was written on its shell. For that matter, he hadn't known who Elpis’ sire was, either, even though he'd practically raised her from the shell.

It wasn't exactly something he could share with Elyan, not without telling him about dragonlords and Great Dragons and, oh, _magic_ , so he continued listing the eggs. All told, there were fifteen, "Though most of them will take years to hatch. The closest one is probably that Sharpspitter egg, which is a pity."

"Why a pity?" asked Elyan.

"Well, Otho says that all the Sharpspitters that have hatched in the covert haven't lived for very long," said Merlin. "The breed is known for being difficult, sometimes vicious. The dragonets pick fights with the other dragons, they refuse to stay in the covert, and once they escape, it's a matter of time before someone hunts them down." He was hoping that he'd be able to talk to the dragonet, at the very least, but Junius had warned him to expect only limited success, though without any explanation on why.

"Maybe this time it'll be different," said Elyan optimistically.

It was then that Merlin noticed a bundle in Elyan's lap. "What's that?"

"The reason I was looking for you." Elyan passed the bundle over to Merlin. It was soft and lumpy. "It's from Gwen. Open it."

Merlin did. When the outer covering fell away, he gasped. His eyes had adjusted to the dim light, and in any case there was no mistaking the pattern of the stitching, the sturdy but light fabric, the distinctive collar that fastened tightly around the neck. Red, with gold edges: the colors of Camelot. 

He held the cloak up to himself; he knew, without having to try it on, that it would fit perfectly. He was silent for a long while, until eventually he managed, "I guess Arthur told Gwen."

Elyan made a vague noise of agreement, and got to his feet. "I should be getting back. Gwen just wanted to make sure you got it." He hesitated, then, "Leon and Percival told Arthur that the cloak will look better on you than it does on them. Gwaine said much the same, though he also said you ought to wear _just_ the cloak." 

The laugh burst out of Merlin unexpectedly, and he found himself clutching the cloak tightly. "Thank you." Gratitude welled up, filling him until his chest was hurting from it. Merlin blinked rapidly and looked up just as Elyan reached the door. "And thank Gwen for me. Please."

Elyan nodded. Right before he left, he said, "For what it's worth, Gwen's had it ready for weeks."

 

~*~

 

Merlin’s desire for Arthur had always been a quiet thing, mixed up with all the complications of Arthur being the Prince, then the King, and Merlin being his manservant; with the multitude of ways Arthur frequently infuriated him and the solid, proven knowledge that Arthur would take hurt for him; with the great destiny that bound them to Camelot; all their shared experiences threaded by the secret of Merlin's magic. 

Merlin was usually grateful for his magic, in a general and abstract way; the only aspect that he hated was the hurt it would bring Arthur when he inevitably found out about it.

Arthur knowing about Aithusa, despite the tense relations between them at present, eased a burden he hadn’t really let himself acknowledge. Arthur was angry, but scarcely a month went by when either or both of them became angry at the other. Arthur knew, now, and eventually Arthur would calm down.

As Merlin conjured light-shapes and smoke-creatures for Aithusa to chase around the lower caves, he pretended, for a while, that the discovery of his magic would garner no worse a reaction.

 

~*~

 

The news came: several groups of mercenaries were gathering just outside of Camelot's borders in the south. There were no sightings of Morgana, but there seemed to be no doubt among Arthur and his advisors that she was the one behind it, especially after Gwaine accompanied the Knights-of-the-Air on a scouting flight and recognized some of the mercenaries.

"Those men wouldn't work together unless there was money involved," reported Gwaine. "A great deal of money."

Arthur dispatched a group of guards and some of the newer Knights to keep an eye on the situation. They had barely left when Elpis came speeding back to Camelot.

"Fire!" shouted Leon before he could even unlock his carabiners. "Some of the mercenaries must have slipped over the border - they've started a forest fire near two villages."

 

~*~

 

"The fire is impenetrable, sire," reported Agravaine, his horse dancing in agitation. "We should retreat to a safer distance."

"What about the people trapped behind the fire?" asked Elyan. They all looked over to where flames were licking up over the trees, the air above them rippling with heat. 

By the time the forces from Camelot had arrived at the scene, the fire had spread, blocking off a third village from rescue. There were uneasy mutterings among the men. It wasn't yet summer, and these woods were healthy and green; the fire shouldn't have spread so quickly, and in such a specific manner. A second fire must have been lit on the other side, along the border, and joined up with the first, effectively encircling the three villages, and now creeping inwards.

"It is unfortunate, but we cannot afford to risk the lives of our good men on that blaze." Agravaine added, not particularly convincingly, "Perhaps the villagers will be able to build barriers, firepits, and the fire will not reach their homes."

Merlin sent a scathing look to the back of Agravaine's head. 

"With all due respect for Lord Agravaine's suggestion," said Gwaine, and the uncharacteristic politeness raised somehow sounded more biting than an outright argument, "I would like to take this moment to remind everyone that we have _dragons_."

 

~*~

 

"Sire," said Leon, after Elpis and Decima had flown a circuit around the fire, "We have but two dragons, and Elpis has only started flying again. There is no knowing if that will be enough, when there are three villages to rescue."

Merlin straightened up. Arthur must know where Leon was going, how could he not; he still asked, "What do you suggest, Sir Leon?"

"We have a third dragon under harness, sire," said Leon, into a silence so taut that it seemed to stretch the very air. "I recommend that Aithusa, and her handler, Merlin, be admitted into the field."

 

~*~

 

Swathes of forest burned, black encroaching on green. It was easier to see in the air, and worse, in a way, because it was clear that this wasn't something _natural_. The main body of the fire formed large, overlapping circles, ignoring small streams and slopes and changes in the types of trees. The dragons growled, and Merlin could sense in Aithusa an echo of his own unexpected anger, sheer _outrage_ \- their territory was under threat. 

He was wondering if there was a way for him to pick out Morgana's location - she must be nearby, to keep an eye on her handiwork - when the fire danced strangely and began spewing up black, choking smoke, which the dragons flew right into.

Merlin coughed, then tried not to breathe too deeply. He nudged at Aithusa with his foot, _turn around, turn around_ , but she only rumbled in irritation. 

"This won't do at all," she said, and she let out an odd roar. It was a great deal lower than her usual one, more vibration than sound. Merlin thought he could hear the other dragons roaring back, though the crackle of the fire below was more than distracting. 

Aithusa suddenly banked hard to the right and narrowly avoided flying into Decima. Merlin yelped, surprised, and caught a glimpse of Percival ducking low, before the Chequered Nettle disappeared back into the smoke. And then Elpis appeared, at first above them, but then she folded her wings slightly and dropped down under Aithusa, swinging the opposite direction from decima. A few seconds later, Aithusa banked again, going left this time, and there was another close pass over Decima.

"What are they doing?" shouted Leon, somehow making himself heard when Elpis swooped under Aithusa again. Merlin could only shrug helplessly in reply.

But then he realized that the smoke was no longer as thick as it had been. Aithusa was also not flying as quickly. The pattern of her flying and her wing movements seemed more circular, instead of the long extensions she used for regular speedy flight.

"Are you redirecting the smoke?" asked Merlin.

"Yes," replied Aithusa, bending her neck in the way that made it easier for her to talk to him, "it's a bit like this game we put together, Elpis and Decima and I, though we usually used it on clouds." After a moment, she added, "You can help a little, if you want. But not too much, or the Knights will wonder," because Merlin's life was full of people who did not believe he could be subtle.

Once they cleared away enough smoke to be able to see where the villages were and land safely, Aithusa headed for the village that was most in danger. Her arrival caused a few screams and even a handful of raised pitchforks. 

Merlin quickly slid down from her back, adjusted his red-and-gold cloak, and did his best to explain that he was there to rescue them.

"You want us to get _on_ the beast?" demanded a woman, incredulous. "Are you mad? It will eat the lot of us, or rip us to shreds!"

"Do not call Merlin names," said Aithusa haughtily. "And I do not want to eat any of you."

Most of the villagers stared at her, clearly taken aback. It took all of Merlin's self-restraint, and years of lessons from Gaius on the matter of _tact_ , to resist pointing out that if he had been planning to feed them to his dragon, they only needed to return after the fire had done the cooking.

There was a faint and not-too-distant crackle; the fire was visible at the edges of the fields and growing steadily closer. 

"I'm scared, Mama," said a small voice. Merlin looked and saw a young child, barely taller than his knee, tugging at another villager's dress. 

"It is perfectly safe to ride on Aithusa," said Merlin, his voice as steady as he could make it. "And you only need to do it for a few minutes, just until we get you to the other side, where King Arthur himself is waiting to lend aid."

Arthur's name provoked a burst of whispering. At least most of the villagers had gathered around them. Finally, a voice at the back piped up, "How many people can it carry at once?"

" _She_ can carry about ten safely, more if it's children," answered Merlin. An idea struck him. "What if I bring one of you out and back again, and this person can reassure the others that the journey is safe? Choose somebody you trust. But we need to move _now_ if we are to get everybody out."

To his surprise, his suggestion was quickly accepted, though the first few to approach Aithusa did so with obvious fear and discomfort. Aithusa crouched down low and remained perfectly still, while Merlin helped people up her back and instructed them to tuck their legs under her harness and hang on. Once he counted ten, he locked himself back on and called the villagers on the ground to stand back. They scrambled away as Aithusa opened her wings and launched herself off the ground.

There were a few audible screams and one person losing their last meal over Aithusa's side, but the whole group made it over the fire and down to the temporary camp Arthur had set up. There were already a few dozen villagers there, though neither of the other dragons were in sight; obviously Percival and Leon had had an easier time convincing their villages to agree to the unorthodox rescue. 

The woman who had talked about being dragon-fodder turned out to be the one elected to fly back with him to the village to confirm that Merlin wasn't tossing them into a dragon's gullet. Which made sense, Merlin supposed, but he couldn't help be irritated that she was taking up a spot that could have been given to someone else. It didn't help when he got a rush of people trying to board the moment Aithusa landed, before the village's representative could even open her mouth; evidently a lot of the villagers had decided that getting out of the fire was more important than whatever might be waiting for them on the other side.

He risked fifteen on the second trip, because half of them were children, and a dozen on the next. He lost count of the number of times they went back and forth. The smoke grew thick again, getting into his lungs. He risked a little more magic funnelling clean air to Aithusa.

Until, at last, there were only five people left. The flames were close enough that Merlin's clothing was drenched in sweat, sticking to him uncomfortably. One elderly couple had trouble climbing onto Aithusa's back. Aithusa held out a claw, palm up. The wife didn't even hesitate, simply stepped onto Aithusa's hand and pulled her husband on after her. Aithusa raised them up to where they could step out onto her back. 

"Are you sure there is no one left in the village?" Merlin asked. He had to repeat himself twice before the words came out in any way that could be understood; his throat felt swollen, it was so dry.

The hesitation on the passengers' faces was all the answer he needed. " _Where_? And how many?" he demanded, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Just the one," answered a man who was missing half of one leg. "Barn with the blue door. In the loft. A woman. She's sick, dying, told everyone to leave her be."

Merlin swore under his breath and practically threw himself off Aithusa's back. He considered telling her to leave if he didn't return, but knew that she wouldn't, any more than he would leave her if their places were reversed. 

The crackle of the fire was loud in his ears by the time he found the barn. His vision was swimming, every breath hurt, but he stumbled his way up the ladder. He found the woman lying on some blankets. He didn't bother to check if she still lived, simply hoisted her over his shoulder and half-slid down the ladder. He was almost to the door when a loud snapping noise caused him to flinch, and he lost his footing, hitting the floor hard enough to knock what breath he had in his lungs. 

He gasped, getting a mouthful of straw and sawdust. He tried to get back up again, but the woman's weight, which could not be more than his mother's and normally would not give him any trouble, felt like a mountain on his back. He could not get a full breath, and the smoke oozing through the windows and the open door made it worse by forcing him to cough. He could hear himself wheezing, hands clawing desperately at the wooden floor.

He saw light, which meant the fire had reached them, he struggled but his body was no longer listening to him. He thought he could hear someone shouting his name, _Merlin, Merlin!_

He moved his lips to say _Aithusa_ , only he had no breath to make a sound with, and he closed his eyes, letting the brightness bear him away.

 

~*~

 

He opened his eyes to Gwen's worried face. She let out a loud sigh when she saw him awake, obviously relieved, and shouted, "He's up!" before throwing her arms around him.

"Ow," he said, or tried to, but the pain in his throat left his eyes watering. 

"Here, sip a little." Gwen pressed a cup against his lips. Merlin yearned for water and yet dreaded the inevitable sting of it; he was pleasantly surprised when a warm, sweet liquid poured down his throat, soothing. "It's honey mixed with a lot of other things," explained Gwen.

"Village?" asked Merlin, once he felt his throat was up to another attempt. His vision cleared enough for him to recognize the ceiling above; he was in his own room.

"They all got out, thanks to you," beamed Gwen. "Even the woman you went to rescue. You'll be glad to know that Gaius has treated her for the chest-sickness that she thought she was dying from."

"It had apparently killed her mother," said Gaius, drifting into view. "A version of it spread through the lower town some years ago. I developed a tincture to relieve the worst of the symptoms, and instructed the victims to stay away from dust and smoke, which exascerbates it."

Merlin coughed. "Aithusa?"

"Refusing to leave the courtyard until she's seen you alive and well with her own eyes." Merlin turned his head and spotted Arthur at the door. "On the other hand, quite a few of the villagers you rescued have been keeping her company."

Merlin let out a sigh, closing his eyes. "Who got me out?"

"She did." When Merlin opened his eyes again, Arthur was by the side of his bed. "You owe me a barn," said Arthur, voice strangely soft. "Apparently there wasn't much of it left after she was done with it."

"It would have burned along with the village, anyway," replied Merlin. He found himself unable to look away from Arthur's eyes.

"It's the principle of the thing," said Arthur. "The two of you are the new heroes of the land. People won't stop talking about how you went back for a sick woman, and how your dragon went after you. As if your poor decision-making skills need to be encouraged any further."

"No one died."

"Only because you have a reasonably intelligent dragon who is able to knock down an entire building."

Gwen made a frustrated noise from somewhere on the other side of Merlin's bed. "The two of you are ridiculous."

"No flying for Aithusa and no strenuous activity for you, Merlin, for at least a week," said Gaius, before leaving the room, followed shortly by Gwen.

There was a moment of silence, during which Merlin debated between taking another honey-sweet drink from the cup that had been left beside his bed, or letting himself doze off. Then Arthur said, voice somber, "You didn't. You didn't have to _prove_ yourself, Merlin."

Drink it was. Merlin managed a few sips, letting Arthur twitch nervously next to his bed, before asking, "and how many times did you listen to me when I said the same to you?"

"It's not the same."

"No, it's not." Merlin placed the cup back down. "You're the King. There is only one of you. When you were the Prince, and Uther's heir, there was still only one of you. Whereas I am a _servant_ , as you recently reminded me, and oh, how many of us are there in this citadel?"

He saw Arthur's fingers clenching into a fist. "Don't. You know I didn't mean it."

Merlin opted to say nothing, closing his eyes instead. 

After a long while, Arthur said, "I'll let Aithusa know that you woke up. Return to your duties whenever you're ready."

 

~*~

 

"What will happen to the villagers?"

"Hmm?" Merlin reluctantly opened one eyelid. 

"The ones we rescued?"

"Oh." Merlin shifted, settling himself more comfortably. The grass was soft under his legs and Aithusa's foreleg was warm under his back; he could not think of a better way of enjoying the good weather. Next time, he ought to bring some food with him. "Arthur has found them temporary homes in the city, for now, and he will consult with each village group on what they wish to do next. Most will likely return to their villages, or what is left of them. Arthur will provide them with food and other supplies while they rebuild. If any wish to relocate, he'll help them too."

"That sounds fair." Aithusa's tail curled around Merlin. "He's a good king, isn't he?"

Merlin sighed. "One day, dearest, he will be the very best king that Albion has ever known."

 

~*~

 

The soft flapping of a page being turned woke Merlin from his nap. 

He counted himself well enough to return to his usual activities, but Gaius remained concerned about his lingering shortness of breath – he maintained that the citadel had far too many stairs – and had asked Arthur to limit his responsibilities for another week. 

“Gwen,” he mumbled, after turning his head and recognizing the person sitting by his bedside.

“Merlin!” Gwen beamed brightly at him. She dropped the book in her hand into the sewing basket on the floor. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better,” replied Merlin. He pushed himself up to sitting. “Good reading?”

“Oh.” Gwen smiled shyly. “Yes, it’s a book Morgana gave me a while ago.” She looked unsure about bringing up Morgana.

“I’ve not forgotten that she was our friend, once,” Merlin reassured her. He cocked his head. “Gwen, is there something the matter? You seem like you want to say something.”

Gwen shifted in her seat. “Just, you know - I’ve been thinking a lot, lately. Nothing serious, just… thoughts.”

“Are you and Arthur all right?”

“Yes, we’re fine. We’re good.” She smiled. “Arthur was really worried about you, you know.”

Merlin shrugged. “He probably knows that you’ll miss me. And he’ll have no one to torment at odd hours of the day.”

Gwen shook her head. “You must know he cares about you. You’re not just a _servant_. Yes, he told me what he’d said. Everyone who cares about him knows that you haven’t been _just a servant_ in a long time.” She looked about to say more, then she looked down at the sewing basket. After a long moment, she reached down and extracted the slim book she’d been reading, holding it out to him.

“ _’The Tale Of A Lady And Her Dragon’_ ,” read Merlin. His eyes widened.

“Women are allowed to be dragon-captains, you know?” said Gwen, staring at her lap as she fidgeted with her hands. “It seems like such a bizarre notion, but there is actually a law that states that women may be appointed dragon-captains ‘if found worthy and under special circumstances’. Not that it is explained anywhere what these circumstances may be. Perhaps in times of great need, such as war? “

“Is this- Does Arthur know?” asked Merlin. “Oh, is this why you’ve been helping me so much, you know, with Aithusa and the dragons? Not that you wouldn’t help, anyway, because you are one of the best people I know, but I’ve been wondering.”

Gwen sighed. “I haven’t spoken to Arthur about it. And I want to see you happy, I know how much the dragons mean to you. I want you _both_ to be happy.” An unreadable look crossed her face. “It’s just – Morgana was always the one who wanted to be free to make her own choices. I was always perfectly content to remain in the background and help the ones I love – helping my father with his work, helping you fit in, helping Morgana with her troubles, helping Arthur become the best King he can be.”

“And you help a great deal, Gwen,” said Merlin earnestly. “I hope you know that. I don’t know how I could have survived my first few years here without you. In fact, I don’t think I can get by without you now.”

“Thank you,” said Gwen, her shy smile reappearing. “And that was fine, that was more than enough for me. But then Morgana left, and Arthur became King. My brother came back and became a Knight. You have a dragon of your own. The world is changing around us, and I don’t know where I fit in.”

“You must know that Arthur is going to ask you to marry him,” said Merlin.

“I suppose. And I love him, of course I do.” Gwen twisted her hands. “But it feels as if it’s just another role I’m sliding into, following the people I love, because I fell in love with a Prince, and where else do I fit when my brother is a Knight and my best friend is the King’s manservant?” She gave him a helpless look. “I don’t want the kind of power that Morgana does. But if I do marry Arthur, I want to be able to think that I’d chosen it, which means considering a different path. And so, dragons.”

Merlin nodded. “At least you’ll have time to think about it? You know how Arthur is, he’ll wait forever, especially for people he loves.”

Gwen’s lips quirked up into a small smile, fleeting; she looked at him and seemed to be amused at a private joke, though her voice carried a trace of sadness. “That’s what I’m worried about.”

 

~*~

 

The next attack involved mercenaries both on the ground and in the air, and they were already several leagues into Camelot by the time Arthur’s hastily-assembled force intercepted them. They had three dragons to Camelot’s two – only Decima and Aithusa, this time – but they were all the size of Greylings, so Merlin was not unduly worried.

That was, until arrows erupted from the trees behind where the Knights and guards were positioned. Merlin saw several guards falling, and Aithusa was wheeling around to search out the threat. There was a flash of something dark in the trees – distracted and trying to make sense of several things happening at once, Merlin looked up at the sound of Decima roaring. There was an arrow sticking out of her hindleg, the kind that would have needed one of the heavy crossbows being built in Camelot to be used by the Knights-of-the-Air, and three of the enemy dragons were converging on her. 

Merlin was urging Aithusa to fly to her aid when he felt a small, stinging pain on his leg. He groped down and felt a dart, embedded, and in the next moment he caught another glimpse of the person sneaking through the woods, a familiar black cloak, _Agravaine_.

His eyes must have closed because the next thing he knew he was falling, nothing but air beneath him, and there was a flash of grey hide as one of the enemy dragons rammed into Aithusa. He tried calling out for help, or to warn somebody that the dragons were in trouble, but there were leaves slapping at him, followed by a hard, cracking pain, and then nothing.

 

~*~

 

Aithusa roared. It was full of fury and anguish and the promise of vengeance, sharp and terrible; it went beyond sound to pour into the core of Arthur's bones, shaking him from the inside. His mind could barely gasp out, _how did I think we could stop her?_ And yet there was a part of him, too, that rose up in agreement: Merlin was ~~his~~ _theirs_ , and he had been _taken_.

A stone-like certainty poured into his gut: they would not rest until they got him back.

When the sound stopped, it took Arthur a few minutes to hear anything past the ringing in his ears. The enemy had retreated. Those of them that could, anyway - there were a great many bodies on the ground, and a large number of horses were running rampant, riderless, apparently driven mad. Two of the enemy dragons were lying on the ground, moaning pitifully and bleeding from the ears. 

And Aithusa was - landing, quite gently for a creature of her size. She picked her way over to a dark-colored lump on the ground. 

It was Decima.

Arthur hadn't identified her at first, thinking she was an enemy dragon who'd managed to sneak behind their lines, because her distinctive brown-and-purple coloring was covered all over by black dragon blood. Arthur immediately directed his horse towards them, and scrambled down to cross the rest of the distance on foot when the horse refused to get any closer.

"Is she-?" the words died in his throat when Aithusa nosed gently at the Chequered Nettle's limp neck. Decima was curled tightly around a familiar, chainmail-clad bulk. "Percival!"

The man was bloody, too, but he was alive. He groaned when Elyan, who'd now caught up to Arthur, tried to move him; he had one hand curled over Decima's shoulder, and refused to let go.

"She lives still," Aithusa said quietly. 

Arthur let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding. 

"We must get Merlin back," Aithusa continued.

He glanced up sharply. But for a creature that supposedly became unmanageable without the influence of their handler, Aithusa looked remarkably collected. And she hadn't gone haring after the ones who'd taken Merlin, but instead went to help one of their own. 

"If we get Merlin back, he and I may be able to save Decima," said Aithusa, in a tone that suggested she thought Arthur was being incredibly slow on purpose.

Arthur blinked. He could not think of any remedy, aside from time and a great deal of luck, that could heal all of the dragon's injuries. But, he reasoned, better to have some hope than none, and finding Merlin was at least a goal they could actively work towards. Perhaps Aithusa had arrived at a similar conclusion; if so, the dragon might well be far more political than even her handler.

 

~*~

 

"I heard the news, Arthur," said Agravaine, riding into the courtyard. "I'm very sorry to hear about your manservant, I know you're quite attached to the boy- _why is that beast not confined_?"

Aithusa growled; luckily, Arthur was the only one close enough to hear. The entire citadel seemed ready to throw itself into mass panic ever since the news had spread, for all that the only thing Aithusa had done so far was lie down in the middle of the courtyard. He placed a calming hand on her neck. "We are coordinating the search efforts, uncle."

"Arthur, I've held my peace about your, your _views_ on dragons and the dragon-captains, but this is going too far." He pointed at Aithusa. "These beasts cannot be trusted. You are endangering the lives of every man, woman, and child in Camelot every time you bring one of them here - into the citadel itself! - and now you've brought one that doesn't even have a handler to control it."

"None of our dragons have ever harmed the people of Camelot," Arthur protested. "All Aithusa has done is sit here and discuss strategies with myself and Leon."

"They are devious, Arthur," Agravaine persisted. "Everyone knows that dragons are creatures of magic! Besides, the law states that a dragon whose handler has been killed must be destroyed immediately."

"Merlin has been _captured_ , he is not _dead_ ," said Aithusa hotly. 

Arthur could practically hear all the weapons being gripped tighter. "She is right. Unless we get proof that Merlin is dead, that law doesn't apply."

And what if they did find proof? It occurred to Arthur that, as long as Aithusa didn't hear about it, she would continue to believe that Merlin was alive, somewhere. She would remain Camelot's. It would be saving her life, too.

But could he really do such a thing? He had seen, when he was younger, dragons becoming wild and unmanageable if their handler was missing, before any proof of death. Perhaps Aithusa was merely better equipped, like how some men handled loss better than others. He suspected it was more than that, though. He could feel the tremble of muscles tightly wound; Aithusa was not in denial, nor suppressing her rage and fear. Losing Merlin would break something in her; but then, she would hardly be the only one.

Agravaine looked as if he intended to argue further, but just then Aithusa let out a low rumble. It wasn't... threatening, exactly, though Arthur very deliberately didn't turn around when Agravaine's gaze flicked upwards, behind Arthur. His uncle's eyes widened; he sent the dragon an ugly look, and Arthur an angry one, and stomped off. Arthur shook his head. He knew that his uncle had... ruthless tendencies, but the man had been pushing to kill a dragon that not only was not doing anyone any harm, but may well have saved Camelot from attack. Even if the mercenaries could not have succeeded against all the might of Camelot, they would have raided villages before Arthur's men managed to route them out.

Something else nagged at him as well.

"You know, there is a reason I've stayed by you since the attack," said Aithusa, once they were able to return to talk of searching.

"Oh?" said Arthur. He looked up from the large map they had been poring over. 

"Well, two reasons. You care about Merlin as much as I do." Aithusa bent her neck until a bright eye was gazing at Arthur intently. "And if you found out Merlin is dead, you wouldn't be able to hide it."

Something in her voice told him that she'd guessed what he'd been thinking. Arthur forced himself not to wince, and nodded sombrely at her in acknowledgement. Because, damn, she was right. If Merlin was dead, he wouldn't be able to keep the knowledge of it from showing.

After a long, awkward pause, Aithusa said, "For what it's worth - if we don't get him back in time, I would still help you. Not Camelot, because its traditions are unfair to dragons, but I will help _you_."

Arthur blinked. "But... why?"

Aithusa looked away. "Because it's what Merlin would have wanted."

And what would Merlin want of Arthur? The answer was easy - to take care of Aithusa, and to be a good King.

Impossible to be both, with the way things stood. 

Arthur was getting really tired of these kinds of dilemmas.

So. "We have to get Merlin back," he said.


	7. Of Finding And Losing

It was Leon, this time. He was silent for a long while, as if he couldn't find words to speak. He lightly touched Merlin's hand with a finger.

"Merlin," said Leon, finally breaking the silence, "you must know that - it was never just because you are Arthur's servant. You've never been just a servant, anyway." He paused. "You did so much for all of us. I don't think you ever realized. You made us into more than we were. You do not think of yourself as a leader of men; but you have become one, anyway. You don't try to lead; but we would follow you, gladly, if you ever did."

He leaned forward, voice scarcely more than a whisper. " _Come home_ , Merlin."

  


  
**CHAPTER SIX: OF FINDING AND LOSING**   


It had been a while since he visited his mother's room. He let the quietness, now familiar, calm him; there was something about this room that made him think of safety and shelter, an encompassing love that never asked for anything in return. He knew that his mother must have had her own flaws, her own weaknesses, but for most of his life, all he'd ever known of her, all he'd ever been allowed to know, were the wounds she'd left behind in his father, the spaces left in the home where they ought to have been a family.

He'd always meant to bring Gwen here, to share this forgotten place with her. He wondered what his mother would have thought of Gwen. 

The books were arranged just as she'd left them; he was always careful to only take out one at a time and put it back exactly how he'd found it. Still, there was evidence of his presence, his intrusion: areas where the dust had been brushed away.

Merlin was on his mind, was the reason he was here, so it seemed natural to wonder if his mother would have liked Merlin. He thought she would have. He carefully opened a large tome, some kind of bestiary; he scowled at an illustration of a creature with far too many heads and thought, _they would have bonded over dragons, if nothing else_.

His fingers froze, and then he was flipping back, still careful with the old pages despite his hurry.

He stopped at the illustration that had caught his eye. The drawing of the dragon took up a whole page. He wasn't entirely sure how he'd known - the dragon in the book was black with blue markings - but there was something in the way the dragon held itself. Or perhaps it was the man riding on its back.

It took him a minute to figure out why this had caught his eye: the dragon wore no harness.

It could have been an artistic choice - it was entirely possible that whoever had drawn the picture had not felt up to recreating the complicated nest of straps and buckles, though all the other dragons pictured in the book wore one. This dragon, if the man was to be used as a comparison, looked far bigger than Decima, the largest dragon in the covert. Clearly, it was not intended to be accurate or realistic. The only dragon Arthur had ever seen close to that size was the old one his father had kept imprisoned under the citadel, and that had been a-

 **GREAT DRAGON** , declared the text on the page opposite the drawing. Arthur worked his way through the text, pausing at _'their colouring ranges the full spectrum without matching any of the common breeds'_ and _'growth after hatching is significantly fast, the juvenile reaching the size of the adults of the larger breeds, such as Reapers and Coppers, after which growth slows but continues steadily over several years'_.

Aithusa was a Great Dragon. The moment Arthur realized it and knew it for truth, he found himself... not entirely surprised, if he were honest. It felt entirely natural that Merlin, his ridiculous, earnest, stupidly loyal, well-meaning-but-incompetent manservant - who'd always seemed more comfortable around dragons than he was around people, sometimes - would go and harness a _Great Dragon_. Arthur remembered his father mentioning that they were extinct; obviously a lie, since he'd kept one imprisoned underneath Camelot.

He hadn't thought about it, the few times he'd seen Merlin climb aboard Aithusa without bothering with a harness for either of them.

He gazed at the neat shelves, a collection that his mother must have spent years building. He’d learned so much from this room. But he had another source of knowledge close at hand, and it was past time he stopped ignoring it.

 

~*~

 

All the Knights were gratifyingly willing to go searching for Merlin. He sent them out in different directions, wishing he could leave as well; nothing would suit his mood better than to stomp around the wilderness for a little while, but there was too much work to justify his absence. Releasing the Knights from their usual duties had raised enough eyebrows as it was, though all the courtiers knew better than to say anything outright.

At night, however, he couldn't sleep. He blamed the silent, eerily efficient service of George, his _temporary_ new manservant. There was no chatter to take him out of his head - which was ridiculous, since he'd slept perfectly fine before when Merlin couldn't attend to him for various reasons. It was as if the mere _knowledge_ of Merlin being somewhere in the citadel, alive and well if likely getting himself into trouble, had been enough. Now he couldn't get his body to settle.

Which was how he found himself in the covert. Elpis was gone, and Decima still hadn’t woken up, and Aithusa was asleep in the cave next to hers. Arthur had no idea what he was doing there, really, as he was only vaguely familiar with a handful of the other dragons.

He sat down in one of the passageways, one level below-the-main, blankly staring at the lines glowing on the wall in front of him. Ingenious, really; Gaius had spouted something about a special type of chemical, or perhaps a rock, that could glow as if molten, but without actually being as hot as molten rock. It certainly saved on torches. No one was particularly clear on who had discovered and activated it; Arthur was willing to blame Merlin.

The sound of movement from further down the passageway made him tense. A dragon came into view, ambling along with no particular hurry. Its wings were long, bearing a very distinctive shape - Junius, Arthur remembered, who was an Anglewing.

"Arthur King," the dragon greeted him as it drew close. For a moment, Arthur thought that the dragon was going to pass him, on the way to someplace else, but then the dragon stopped, looking at him expectantly.

"Junius," responded Arthur. "I apologize - did I disturb your rest?"

"No, I do not sleep well at night," said the Anglewing. He did not say anything else, lying down on the ground next to Arthur, as if content to gaze at the glowing wall with him.

It was some kind of hunting scene, Arthur thought, his gaze tracing the lit-up lines. A stylized dragon was depicted mid-dive, claws extended towards what looked like a deer. There was something... joyful, in the way the dragon was drawn, its wings shown in its full glory and swirls of wind streaming away from it.

"Why does - when a dragon loses their handler, why is it -" the words caught in Arthur's throat. Belatedly, it occured to him that this was likely a very personal question to ask a dragon.

Junius aimed a critical eye at him; he did not look offended, merely assessing. "Grief is a dream of the worst kind - one which you cannot truly be rid of, and at the same time, one which you cannot bear to lose," said the Anglewing. "Does it not drive humans to madness as well? I would think that you, Arthur, _son of Uther_ , would understand better than most."

Arthur ducked his head. After a moment, and he was very willing to blame Merlin for his budding inability to stop asking questions, he said, "There's something I'm missing, isn't there?"

"Ask her handler," was all Junius said, "when you get him back."

 

~*~

 

"If you are going to look for him, I am coming with you," said Aithusa, landing beside the road. The horses whinnied and reared back, trying to move away from the dragon.

Arthur sighed, trying to control his mount. They had barely left the lower town and a low headache was already making itself known from Gwaine's chatter. He did not feel up to arguing with Aithusa as well.

"I don't think you'll have any better success spotting him from the air," said Arthur. "You best wait in the covert; I will let you know as soon as we have found him. Besides, you are scaring the horses."

"Oh, stop that," snapped Aithusa. To Arthur's shock, the horses suddenly settled down, and appeared confused about their earlier alarm. Aithusa came closer and the horses did not seem to notice her. 

"Is this something Great Dragons can do?" asked Arthur.

"Great Dragon?" echoed Gwaine. His eyes widened, and he stared at Aithusa.

"Yes," replied Aithusa shortly. "And what are you talking about? You are riding on me."

Arthur gaped in a way that, he was sure, was wholly undignified. "But. You're Merlin's dragon."

"Yes?"

"Dragons only let their handlers ride them." Only, that was clearly not true. "And other people, I suppose, with their handlers' permission."

"That is silly. We may let whomever we like ride us," said Aithusa blithely, as if she wasn't obliterating generations of established dragon lore. "Though, of course, we prefer our handlers."

"I don't have a harness," persisted Arthur.

"And I'm not wearing mine. I am not going to let you _fall_." Aithusa sounded offended at the implication. "Hurry up, please, he has been lost for too long already."

Naturally, it was they who found Merlin. Aithusa was somehow able to sniff him out, in the middle of a mud-swamp, of all places. Arthur didn't quite believe it until he had Merlin in his hands - fine, in his arms, getting Arthur's clothing muddy - and then Merlin was collapsing against him, clutching his head as if in pain.

Arthur barely remembered the flight back to Camelot. Arthur was back in his room, calling for a bath, Merlin safely deposited in Gaius' expert care, when it occurred to him that he'd held Merlin's unconscious body while riding a dragon, no harness in sight, and he'd never once felt anything less than safe.

 

~*~

 

Merlin's head hurt. No, that was an understatement - his head felt as if it was being _split open_ , and the blunt axe responsible for the job was still there, steadily pushing down until it was difficult to even string two words together.

"Gaius," he heard someone say, "what's wrong with him?"

"I don't know," answered a different voice, "did Arthur say anything when they brought him?"

"No. At least, I don't think so."

"There's something odd about his smell." The third voice was far louder than the other two. Something rough brushed against his arm, and he flinched, his mouth filling with the taste of smoke and sulphur and sick. He didn't realize he was hacking, throwing up, until he was spitting out mouthful after mouthful of bitterness.

 _There is-_ he heard, or thought he did, except white-sharp pain crackled through his brain. "In his head, it's in his head!"

He drifted off, carried by the suffocating haze, and came back to, "-until he fulfils the task that he'd been given. But I don't think it's working as it should. The idea has always been to pass the hosts off as normal, so that their victims would not suspect anything was amiss."

"It's the bond," said the bigger voice, "Dragons are immune to many types of magic, including ones that control the mind, and those bonded to us receive a form of protection for it. The fomorrah has been placed inside him but its efforts are being thwarted." A pause, then, "I believe it's the battle between the two influences that is causing him pain."

 

~*~

 

Merlin didn’t remember anything between tied up by Morgana and waking up in his room back in Camelot. He felt quite glad for it, if he were honest; his body felt as if every dragon in the covert had stampeded over it.

“You were shouting and struggling, and Gwen had to stay with Aithusa to keep her from knocking the walls down,” said Gaius.

“What did you do?” asked Merlin. 

“Nothing. All we could do was wait, and hope that the dragon-magic, from your bond to Aithusa, would win over the fomorrah.”

Merlin forced down some food and then insisted on going to see Decima. Aithusa was overjoyed to see him, nuzzling him enthusiastically the moment he stepped out onto the courtyard. 

“Are you quite sure you are ready to do this?” asked Aithusa on the short flight down to the covert. Merlin probably should not have assented to her carrying him if he wanted to convince anybody that he was sufficiently recovered. “You still look quite pale.”

“Decima has been in pain for long enough,” said Merlin. He stumbled into her cave. The Chequered Nettle was lying on her side, barely moving aside from the slow rise and fall of her chest. 

Percival was on a pallet next to her. He raised his head at Merlin’s arrival. “Merlin! I heard that you were found – I’m glad to see that you’re all right.”

Merlin mumbled something back, but most of his attention was on the dragon in front of him. He could feel Aithusa following close behind. Decima’s hide was warm to the touch, almost too warm. His vision swam, but he pressed on, calling on the strands of his magic that tasted of _dragon_. He’d always found it easier to use his dragonlord abilities when he pictured himself as a dragon; he did so now, imagining himself breathing fire into Decima’s body, because to dragons, fire was _life_.

“ _Come back_ ,” he called to her in the dragon’s tongue. He didn’t know if the words remained in his head or he’d accidentally spoken them aloud. It didn’t seem important, in the face of a dragon on the brink of death. “ _Decima. I call you back. I command you: return to this dream, it is not yet time to leave it._ ”

As if from a great distance: _Great Dragon_.

“ _Dream this dream again; Death must wait a little longer._ ”

He jolted awake the same moment Decima did. Percival let out a joyous shout and threw his arms around his dragon’s head. Decima still needed time to heal her injuries, but she no longer felt as if she was fading away. Merlin found himself lying on Aithusa’s foreleg. She nuzzled him in concern, and he petted her to reassure her that he was all right. He reasoned that most of the magic must have come from her. He was exhausted, but that was hardly surprising; he also felt strangely misaligned, as if he didn’t quite fit into his body at that moment.

“All in a day’s work,” muttered Merlin under his breath.

 

~*~

 

"I have to admit," said Arthur, the first morning Merlin returned to work, "After what happened to you, it made me think, made me realize just how... _uncertain_ life is. How easy it is to lose someone, to lose... opportunities... it's been preying on my mind..." 

Merlin swallowed, tried to ignore the way his heart started pounding. It would serve Arthur right, Merlin thought distantly, if Merlin's heart burst out of his chest. He would make Arthur _clean up the mess_.

Arthur trailed off. Opened his mouth, hesitated, and closed it again.

"Arthur?" prompted Merlin. Croaked, more like.

"I'm going to ask Gwen to marry me," Arthur blurted out. For a second he looked surprised, as if he hadn't meant to say that, but his expression quickly settled into one of determination, as one who saw a course already set and would follow it through to the end. "Yes. I am. Will you help me?"

 

~*~

 

Merlin saw Gwen's response on Arthur's face.

His hand came up, and paused, hovering uncertainly over Arthur's shoulder. He wasn't sure why - he rarely hesitated in his responses to Arthur. And now Arthur was - sad? Heartbroken? The King's face was hard to read, though there was certainly dejection in the subtle slump of his shoulders.

"I'm sorry," he eventually said.

The kingly shoulders shrugged. "I think I knew. Things have changed between us. I still had to ask. The hardest action, sometimes, is changing something that has become comfortable. But it wouldn't be right, it wouldn't be fair, to act as if nothing is different. I owed it to - what we had, what we have now - I owed it to us to ask." Arthur buried his face in his hands. "And she needed to answer."

Merlin nodded. "Do you... do you need anything?"

"Only some time alone." Arthur's voice was horribly _gentle_ , quiet. Merlin was terrified of moving too quickly, of making too much noise.

"Of course."

Merlin was nearly at the door when he heard Arthur murmur his name. He paused and looked over his shoulder. "Arthur?"

For a long moment, all he could hear was Arthur's breathing. Then, "Thank you."

He wasn't sure what he was being thanked for. There was a part of him that didn't want to be thanked for anything, because maybe that part didn't feel quite so awful about what had happened as he should. "Always, Arthur."

The door barely made a sound when he closed it behind him.

 

~*~

"Merlin," Aithusa said, "if you are in love with Arthur, why did he ask Gwen to marry him?" After a moment, she added, "Not that Gwen is not perfectly nice, of course. She is very kind."

"I’m not-" Merlin spluttered, looking around anxiously. Luckily, they were in the clearing outside the covert, and there wasn’t another soul in sight. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, you always do everything he asks even when you don't like it, and you get angry with people who hurt him-"

"That's because we're friends!"

"- and I can feel it, you know," Aithusa finished. "When he's near you, it feels like when we are flying and the sun is warm on my wings, only you feel it on the inside, and sometimes there’s so much of it that it hurts, but you don't care, because going without it is even worse."

Merlin was quiet for a long while. Eventually, he said, "Well, just because you love someone doesn't mean they love you back. But you want them to be happy, anyway."

Aithusa cocked her head. "No, I'm quite sure he-" Just then, there was a loud flapping of wings, and Elpis landed, having finished her patrol flight.

“Oh good, you are,” said Elpis cheerfully. “Have you eaten? Leon says he can get us a sheep each, and then we may go to the lake later to wash.”

~*~

 

It was not unlike his first night in Camelot, all those years ago: Merlin waking up from a deep sleep and immediately making his way out towards the covert. There was no clear voice calling to him, this time, but rather a strong, insistent feeling that he was _needed_. He was still half-asleep when he stumbled down the stairs and passages of the covert, but the cold wind woke him up all the way once he got outside. 

At least the route to Kilgarrah's cave had been _through_ the citadel. Merlin thought about running back for his cloak when he realized that he was already holding it in his hand; he must have picked it up out of habit.

The covert was warm. Aithusa’s fire on the walls did a great deal to ward off the inevitable chill underground, but it seemed to Merlin that the covert had gotten cosier since the Knights started working on the place. He had no idea what all the shovelling and rock-shifting and general manual labour was actually doing - was it even possible to keep drafts out of caves? - but he appreciated how much more pleasant large sections of the covert had become, caves and passageways feeling dry and snug.

"Merlin!" 

Gwen's voice startled him. He looked up to see her and Elyan hurrying down from the upper level; they must have been visiting Decima.

"Has something happened?" asked Merlin. He'd seen Decima only hours previously, and she appeared to be recovering well. Percival had his own pallet in her cell.

"Grainne's egg is about to hatch," said Aithusa, appearing behind the siblings. 

"Oh." Merlin had completely forgotten that the egg had hardened two weeks previously. "That's good, I was starting to worry that there was something wrong."

"Well, she wanted to hatch a few days ago, but I asked her to wait, as you were still recovering from the fomorrah."

"Fomorrah?" asked Elyan curiously. 

Merlin and Gwen shared a look. "It's a long story," said Gwen.

"Wait, you can speak with the hatchling?" asked Merlin.

"Yes?" said Aithusa, puzzled. "We speak to all the eggs. Well, Pliny's not allowed any more, as he'll put the dragonets up to all sorts of mischief. But dragons learn speech in the shell, and it helps to have voices listen to."

The egg was, indeed, shuddering and emitting little noises when they piled into the heated chamber. Merlin took off his neck-cloth and wrapped it around the egg, before gingerly lowering it to the ground, keeping the cloth underneath it for meagre padding against the hard rock.

There was a low murmur of voices out in the passageway; the other dragons had gathered, curious, though none tried to come inside.

Once it was on the ground, the egg began to rock back and forth. There was a furious tapping noise, and what sounded like claws against the inside of the egg. A large crack appeared in the middle of the egg, and thinner cracks webbed out from it, and then the whole lower half of the egg fell apart. The tail and hindlegs of the hatchling stretched out, covered in slime, but the upper body was still in its half-egg. The hatchling sat on Merlin’s neck-cloth as if confused, the egg part wobbling this way and that.

“Come on,” said Gwen, crouching down beside it. “You’re almost out, little one.”

The hatchling squeaked at the sound of her voice, attempted to hop up on just its hindlegs and found itself unable to balance, rolling back onto its side. Merlin could hear it tearing at the remaining egg shell from the inside. Finally, it managed to used its tail to push the egg from underneath, and the rest of the hatchling emerged, glossy-wet and sniffling.

Merlin was familiar enough with Sharpspitters to recognise the shudder for what it was; he quickly pulled Gwen back, just before the hatchling let out a mighty sneeze. Droplets of venom splattered over the ground and walls, filling up the heated space with its characteristic metallic scent. Merlin once got a little of Grainne’s venom on his arms and the skin had turned red and swollen, resembling a burn, for over a week.

“Is it a he or a she?” asked Elyan.

“She,” answered Merlin. “It’s good to meet you, little one.”

The hatchling ignored both of them, instead training her eyes on Gwen. The covert’s new Sharpspitter shuffled forward, shaking her body to get the slime off her hide, wings fanning out to dry. 

Gwen cooed, “You’re gorgeous”, and crouched back down again, leaning forward to stroke her head. “What’s your name?”

The hatchling tilted her head. “I do not have one yet.” Shyly, she asked, “Would you like to name me?”

The smile that grew on Gwen’s face seemed to make her glow. “I would love to!” She paused, and then said, “Aspasia. Pasy, for short.”

Aspasia let out a pleased sound, and crawled closer until her head was in Gwen’s lap. Her hide would be soft for a few weeks, hardening when she was close to maturity. “Aspasia. I like that name.”

 

~*~

 

It turned out that Sharpspitters, ordinarily intractable and volatile and always resisted harnessing, were perfectly happy to have women handlers. Merlin and Elyan happily left Gwen to be the one to tell Arthur. Merlin felt a bit sorry for Arthur, who was likely feeling as if his life had been taken over by dragons, but he had no worries about Arthur barring her from Pasy. Not that Arthur would deny Gwen anything. In any case, there was no mistaking the uncomplicated joy on Gwen’s face in the following weeks, and the way she seemed settled and content.

“Is it everything you ever dreamed?” he asked her, a long time after, while they watched Aithusa and Pasy frolicking in the lake. 

She smiled and took his hand, briefly squeezing it. “More. But what matters, and what makes me happy, is that _I_ dreamed it.”


	8. Revelations Long-Awaited

The man beside the bed rested his head in his hands. It was strange, how he couldn't bear to look at Merlin for too long, but the moment he turned away, he felt the urge to look again, in case something had changed. He counted himself a patient man, but he disliked being helpless; it felt like failure, a strike upon his honour, to sit and watch a friend fade slowly away.

“Lancelot,” called a voice from the door, “You have done two shifts already. You should get some sleep.”

“Just a little longer,” replied Lancelot. “He has done more – much, much more – for me.”

  


  
**CHAPTER SEVEN: REVELATIONS LONG-AWAITED**   


There was an opening on one side, next to the passage-wall, where Merlin had painstakingly cut through the rock bit by bit, using small bursts of magic and learning a great deal about stability and weight distribution in the process. Merlin remembered in time that there were no torches on the other side, and, having company, he couldn’t conjure a ball of light like he usually did; he grabbed the nearest torch before leading the way through the opening.

The air immediately felt colder. Merlin beckoned for Leon and Percival to follow him. They walked along the passageway for another minute or so, and then Leon exclaimed, "We're going up. There is a slight incline here."

"Yup," said Merlin. "This passage curves around the hill, too."

"Does it go all the way to Camelot?"

 _Yes_ , Merlin thought, _Don't you remember the Great Dragon that burst out from under the city a few years ago?_ "I don't know. It's likely."

There were smaller passages that branched off the central one; Merlin led them down to the first one they came across. It was hard to see, as the torch's light didn't travel very far, but Merlin waved it around so that the Knights could get an impression of caves, cells that were larger than even the ones for bonded dragons, a space that resembled the holding cave but with an entrance twice its size. All shrouded in darkness and neglect.

"It's all like this," said Merlin.

"How many levels are there?" asked Leon.

"I'm not sure, there are more blockages further up," said Merlin. "Do you want to keep looking?"

A pause. "Let's go back down," said Leon.

Once they were back in the central passageway, Leon looked speculatively at the blockage. "Have you mentioned this Arthur, Merlin? These blockages?"

Merlin shook his head. "I believe most of them were put in place by Uther."

The Knights nodded, understanding. "It's a pity," Leon sighed, "All that space going unused. I'll mention it to Arthur."

"This wall was constructed here," said Percival, kneeling to inspect the edges of the blockage-wall. "The passageway was not pulled down, so it is likely still sound, should the blockage be cleared away."

“The dragons will be more than willing to help,” said Decima, when Merlin and the Knights returned to the harnessed dragons’ caves. “It would be much nicer to have more space.”

The men paused. “I don’t know why I never thought of that,” said Merlin. “The dragons will surely make the work a great deal easier, and faster.”

The two Knights nodded. “You’ll tell Arthur, then?” said Leon to Merlin.

“Wait, what?” Merlin blinked. “Why me?”

 

~*~

 

“A tournament?” said Elyan after the announcement was made. “Really?”

“No better way to get over a broken heart,” said Gwaine with relish.

Merlin groaned audibly. “There is no way that this can end well.”

 

~*~

 

It was fortunate, really, that the first dragon to lay eyes on Lancelot was Aithusa. She looked quizzically at the two men, but waited until Lancelot left to return to the citadel before asking Merlin, "Who were you speaking to?"

"Oh, that is Lancelot," said Merlin. "He - well, we thought he'd died, before you hatched, but it seems like he's returned."

"He?" said Aithusa. "I don't - of course, you may be friends with whomever you like, Merlin, even if they are unpleasant. But this Lancelot's clay reeks of Morgana's magic, and she means to harm us and our friends."

"Morgana-" Merlin stopped. "Wait, did you say _clay_?"

"Yes. That is what he is made of," added Aithusa helpfully.

Merlin took a second to consider this. "Am _I_ made of clay?"

Aithusa stared at him like he was being ridiculous. "Of course not, Merlin. You're a man."

"So is Lancelot," said Merlin. "Or - he's not a man?" 

"Can you not tell the difference between clay and flesh?" asked Aithusa with genuine curiousity. "It is perfectly clear to me, but my nose is keener than yours."

Merlin rubbed a hand over his hair, sighing heavily. "I _knew_ it was too good to be true."

 

~*~

 

It was with some measure of trepidation that Merlin consulted Kilgarrah on the situation with Lancelot. He was surprised to learn that there was a way to restore Lancelot fully.

“A Shade is a copy of a person, created out of darkness and death-magic,” said the Great Dragon. “It has no more life than your own shadow. But if you fill it with fire, with light, you may be able to make your friend whole, free from Morgana’s influence.”

The only problem he encountered was in getting Lancelot to the covert in order to attempt the restoration. The old Lancelot would have been easy to persuade, but the Shade was focused on whatever mischief Morgana had planned for it. There was no legitimate reason for Lancelot to go to the covert. Merlin was willing to try physically subduing his friend, but after the tournament, it was clear that the Shade possessed all the prowess of the real Lancelot.

Frustrated, he ended up blurting out, “I need to get Lancelot to the covert, preferably unconscious, and I would really appreciate not being asked why,” when Gwaine commented that he looked stressed.

A beat, then, “Very well, what time?”

Merlin didn’t quite believe it would be that easy, until Gwaine came stomping over the clearing with a body-shaped sack slung over his shoulder. Merlin quickly moved to help him. They hauled Lancelot over to the holding chamber. Gwaine graciously accepted Merlin’s profuse thanks, and turned to leave without being asked to. Merlin followed after him.

"Gwaine," Merlin stumbled. "I-"

The Knight sighed. "You don't have to tell me, Merlin." He smiled, and it was not his Gwaine-the-charmer smile, but a genuine one, though there was a trace of sadness around the edges. "I would like it if you did, but you don't have to." 

"I'm sorry." Merlin was very, very tired of saying those words to his friends. "I really am. I just." He held up his hands in a helpless gesture.

"I know." Gwaine stepped close, still smiling. He seemed to be searching Merlin's face for something. Merlin felt his insides flipping over, his heartbeat making itself known; there was a tightness in his chest, almost burning, and he couldn't tell if it was anticipation or heartbreak or both. After a long, long, _long_ moment, Gwaine whispered, "I know."

And kissed Merlin.

Before Merlin could - he wasn't sure, actually, what he was about to do, much less what he wanted to do - Gwaine was stepping back, putting space between them once more. Merlin had always found Gwaine's expressions the easiest to read, but he couldn't read the one he was wearing now. 

They stared at each other. Likely realizing that Merlin was not going to be the one to rescue them from the awkward moment, Gwaine huffed a breath and said, "I had to, just once. Just to know that I tried. I'm sorry."

Merlin swallowed. "Don't be. Sorry, I mean. Don't be sorry." He thought about closing the distance again, giving Gwaine a hug, because Gwaine was the most tactile of them, but there was something closed-off about Gwaine at that moment, something in his stance that screamed _pull back_ , _retreat_.

It seemed absurd that he, _Merlin_ , would be able to make someone like Gwaine retreat. Gwaine would go against three skilled swordsmen without a weapon in his hands. And win. 

"I need to-" Merlin made a vague gesture towards the covert. 

"Right. Yes." Gwaine nodded. "I'll go back to the citadel. Make sure Arthur doesn't come looking for you."

The mention of Arthur made Merlin jerk his eyes away, heat flashing over his face, and he knew better than to hope Gwaine didn't notice. Merlin didn't react to Arthur's name, normally, which was fortunate since he heard it a hundred times a day and said it a hundred times more, but he could still feel the shadow-pressure of Gwaine's lips and it wasn't as if he didn't know why Gwaine had never made a move before.

"Right," said Merlin, staring at a random tree. "Thank you. For. You know."

Some other time, Gwaine would have made a joke - _not exactly a hardship_ or _there's more where that came from_ \- and it was telling that he responded with a sincere, "You're welcome." But then, Gwaine was always strangely vulnerable in his deflections.

Merlin nodded, and forced himself to turn and walk into the covert. He'd only taken a few steps when Gwaine said, "Speaking of Arthur - you should tell him. Soon. Before something goes wrong." And Merlin knew that Gwaine _knew_ , he must, and Merlin also knew that Gwaine was referring to more than one thing. 

He sighed. "I know."

 

~*~

 

 _This kind of magic is different from anything you have ever done,_ Kilgarrah had said.

Merlin carefully arranged Lancelot on the stone floor of the holding chamber, and sat down behind his head. Aithusa settled down by Lancelot's feet. He could hear movement from the outer passageway, but the only other person allowed into the cave was Junius, who was watching the whole thing warily next to the barricade. 

Lancelot looked like he was sleeping. Merlin tried not to think about how much losing his friend the first time had hurt. It helped, he supposed, that he never quite accepted that Lancelot was back.

_You must accept that his fate is in your hands. You cannot restore life without the risk of death._

"Are you ready?" asked Merlin.

For an answer, Aithusa breathed out a thin tendril of flame; it twisted and curled around them, as if shaped by an invisible barrier, until it formed a perfect circle, with Merlin and Lancelot inside. 

_He is in a halfway state. He is an unliving thing dreaming of life. You must both break the dream and make it true. If you fail, he is lost forever._

He reached out and touched his hand to Aithusa's fire, letting the heat crawl down his arm and spread through him. He pictured it wrapping around his magic. He wished, not for the first time, that there was a spell he could use; but spells were a thing of men, Kilgarrah had said. Dragonmagic worked best on _instinct_ \- which explained why Gaius had had such a hard time training him, in the beginning.

He rested both hands over Lancelot's brow. He could feel the magic resisting, and he suddenly understood why Aithusa had called him 'clay'. There was a sense of wrongness, something earthy shaped into an imitation of life. He _pushed_ , tried to find some kind of spark, tried to find something that was _Lancelot_ -

\- but there was nothing.

"Because you are trying to teach life to something that is not living," said Junius, somewhere outside the circle of fire.

It was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

He reached, and _reached_ , and felt nothing but blankness. 

_Remember that he is your friend. The bonds between you are stronger than any magic of Morgana’s.._

He knew that letting up would be the end of it, would put Lancelot forever out of his reach, so he kept pushing power into the body on the ground, power that the Shade drew in like a bottomless well and still, _nothing_.

Merlin started to sweat. The idea grew in his mind that this was impossible, that this was beyond his ability, and the ensuing fear began to eat away at his strength as well.

"What good am I," cried Merlin, after an indeterminate length of time, shaking from the prolonged strain, "if I can't even save my friend, who'd given his life in my stead? How am I supposed to be this powerful sorcerer, or bring magic back to Camelot, if I can't do even this?"

Junius made a dismissive noise. "There was magic in this land long before you were born; magic will linger until the very last trace of life slips away into the night beyond. No, young warlock; your role in things to come is more than merely the power you yield."

"Please. All this time, all this talk of my destiny - what am I for, if not for my magic?"

"Oh, child." And suddenly Junius was there, just outside the flames. A wing came to rest over his head, like a living roof, as if the dragon did not care if he were burned. "You, dearest one, guard our _dreams_."

Merlin shuddered, slumped over; distantly he heard Aithusa calling his name in distress.

"Think of all that Lancelot means to you. Think of everything you have shared, all the moments and all the secrets."

"Hurts," he gasped.

"It must."

The fire burned hotter in him. He was too weak to protect himself, his thoughts too scattered to properly channel the heat. He couldn't see anything and he didn't know if it was because his eyes were shut or the light had destroyed them. He was going to burn, he was being cooked inside out.

"And you're still not letting go."

Never. Not while he was still able to decide, while he still had any control over his body. He thought of Arthur, wished numbly that he'd _told_ him, at least, and the heat seemed to focus on his heart, as if feeding on his guilt and regret, or maybe scouring them away, because after a while the burn was cleaner and all that was left was-

" _Merlin_."

Breath exploded out of him; his eyes snapped open, and his vision swam, but there in front of him was Lancelot, awake and staring at him with concern. There was pressure around Merlin's arms and he realized that Lancelot was clutching him, fingers digging into his skin through his sleeves.

"You're all right," Merlin gasped. 

"I don't- what happened?" Lancelot blinked. The fire-ring was gone, and the room seemed darker. "Am I in the covert? Why are the walls glowing?"

Merlin couldn't help it; he let out a laugh, which sounded clsoer to a sob than he would have liked, and threw his arms around his friend. Lancelot stiffened, briefly, but his arms came up to wrap around Merlin in turn. Lancelot had always been good about letting Merlin explain things in his own time.

"Welcome home," whispered Merlin into his friend's shoulder.

 

~*~

 

"Merlin, get out of the way!"

Merlin barely had time to register the _giant boulder bouncing towards him_ before something squeezed his waist and his feet left the ground. His head bumped against a low part of the ceiling, but hey, he wasn't squashed or suffering any broken bones. The boulder slammed to a stop; Cesan growled in annoyance and pushed it off his foreleg, letting it continue rolling down the passageway towards the main level. 

Cesan looked as surprised as Merlin felt; he let Merlin go the moment he realized exactly who he'd wrapped his tail around. Though Merlin couldn't help noting that the Bright Copper still set him down carefully, rather than just dropping him like Merlin half-expected.

“Thank you,” said Merlin, mostly on automatic.

Cesan shrugged and continued back down the passageway. 

The dragon was almost out of sight when Merlin said, “Does this mean you don’t really hate me, after all?”

Cesan paused. “You braved a fire to rescue someone whom others had given up for dead,” he eventually said, and it struck Merlin that he’d never asked, never wondered, why Cesan’s voice had a permanent rasp, why the dragon rarely flew and always seemed out of breath afterwards. He was still staring when the Bright Copper lumbered out of sight.

 

~*~

 

Merlin entered Arthur’s bedroom, took a long look at him, and said, decisively, “Come with me.”

“But I’m already in my bedclothes!” protested Arthur. He didn’t think Merlin could tell he’d been pacing the room for the previous hour, tired to the bone but unable to settle. 

He’d gone to a village, earlier, that seemed to have been struck down by some plague. That was, if a plague caused people’s bodies to sprout extra limbs or rearrange their insides. And all of the afflicted had the same scorched-black skin as in the previous cases.

What was Morgana _doing_?

“No, I’m not kidding, come on.” Merlin allowed him to throw on a thick, dark blue cloak, though he muttered about, “not really fooling anyone, not sure why you even bother.” 

They descended down to the ground level of the citadel, where Merlin seemed to hesitate. “We’ve opened up the way to the dungeon where the Great Dragon Kilgarrah used to be kept,” explained Merlin when Arthur frowned at him impatiently. “So _theoretically_ there is now a direct route from the citadel to the covert. It’ll be handy for when the rains start! But, at the moment, we’re not entirely sure how stable everything is, so you and I are taking the usual route tonight.”

“But why are you taking me to the covert?” demanded Arthur.

Merlin didn’t bother answer. Arthur _could_ storm back up to his room, Merlin wouldn’t be able to stop him, but it wasn’t as if he was getting anything done there.

He was surprised, and yet _not_ surprised, to find his Knights sitting amidst a heap of dragons in the holding chamber. The low hum of conversation died down a little at his entrance, but then Aithusa shifted aside to make space for Merlin, and Merlin dragged Arthur along with him by his cloak, and that was how Arthur found himself sitting between Aithusa’s tail and the folded wings of the one he vaguely remembered as Grainne.

Most of the dragons appeared to be sleeping, and Arthur was wondering if he’d be able to doze a little – being around dragons was remarkably _warm_ , he could see why his Knights preferred to sleep next to their dragons whenever possible – when Grainne shifted position and rasped, without warning, "I was your mother's, you know.”

Arthur, eyes wide, stared at the old Sharpspitter.

"I begged your father to kill me after we lost her," continued Grainne, seemingly ignoring Arthur’s shock, "Why should he spare me, when he has killed so many of my kin? And now it seems I've outlived even he." She seemed unaccountably sad about this fact.

When Gwen had harnessed Pasy, it hadn't occurred to Arthur to wonder about the lone Sharpspitter in the covert. Now he remembered Merlin's explanation: _most Sharpspitters don't live very long, as they tend to fight each other a lot and, you know, poisonous venom._ Harnessing upon hatching helped, because they became territorial in a different way, growing possessive of their handlers instead of their hunting grounds. Arthur should have realized that Grainne must have been harnessed at one point, too, and what other woman could have gone into the Covert-Under-The-City freely?

After a long moment, he shifted closer to the dragon. "Will you tell me about her?" 

 

~*~

 

Merlin pulled in a breath, deep, focusing on the stretch of his lungs instead of the way his fingers and knees were shaking. "You said, once, that -" the words caught in his throat. He was doing this. 

_He was doing this._

"Merlin, is this really the time-"

"Yes, it is!" said Merlin. Or, wow, thundered, that was literal _thunder_ outside the window despite it being a perfectly clear, blue-sky day. 

Arthur's eyes widened. Had he seen the flash of gold? Merlin reminded himself that he was about to tell Arthur, it would actually make it marginally easier if Arthur worked it out himself. Though why he thought Arthur would reach the right conclusion after years of accepting every possible lie – 

\- _oh gods, all those lies_ -

\- he couldn't, he couldn't, Arthur was going to _hate_ him –

\- it had been a long time since his magic had been this unruly, lashing about under his skin, lighting up his insides with fire, like in the early days when Camelot was still strange and new, which was approximately when he'd started carrying this particular burden; he wanted to finally, _finally_ let it go and yet dreaded what the world would look like without it –

\- he'd never known Arthur, had never looked at Arthur, without the burn of this secret eating away inside –

"I should have told you a long time ago," he choked out, because it was true. "But, at first, I couldn't, not just for my sake, and then - you said, once, that the hardest action, sometimes, is changing something that has become comfortable." Merlin wanted to throw in a reassuring smile, because Arthur was staring at him now with a familiar mixture of worry and impatience, but he worried that he'd just end up being sick all over Arthur's shoes.

_Say it._

His tongue felt intent on escaping from his mouth.

He brought his hands up, staring at how violently they were shaking, though he couldn't really feel them now - his body seemed to be a hundred leagues away. 

Words failed him, at the last. 

But he didn't need them.

"I'm sorry," was all he could say, before he eased his hold on his magic, trusting that his magic would never hurt Arthur because his magic was a part of him,

light burst forth from his hands, curling into a ball that rose above his hand, burning brightly white and blue.


	9. Returning Home

  


**CHAPTER EIGHT: RETURNING HOME**

Merlin had never really realized just how much warmth Arthur's eyes usually held, until now, when they were utterly devoid of any. He looked every inch a King - no, he looked like _Uther_ , which was frightening and heartbreaking in equal measure. A distant part of Merlin's mind wondered, somewhat hysterically, how many of Arthur's enemies had been faced with this, right before judgement had been made on them.

 _None_ , came the realization, _because no one else,_ no one else, _can hurt Arthur so._

Leather creaked when Arthur leaned in close, hand clenched around the hilt of his sword. He smelled of chainmail and sweat, of countless mundane moments over the last, best years of Merlin's life. The King's voice was low, deadly, as he said, "Leave Camelot within the hour. For your services, I will spare your life. But you are never to return; I do not wish to ever see your face again."

 

~*~

 

It was hardly a surprise when, merely two days after Merlin had settled them in a little hidden cove that was just within the boundaries of Camelot, Aithusa lifted her head and said, "Lancelot is coming."

Merlin listened for the clatter of hooves, but heard none. He blinked in surprise when the thicket guarding the entrance to the cove rustled and produced the Knight in question. 

"Elpis was able to track you yesterday," explained Lancelot. He made himself comfortable next to the firepit, setting down a large bag he'd slung over one shoulder; he was clearly staying for the night. "She and Leon dropped me off at the end of their rounds. They'll pick me up tomorrow morning."

"Camelot's still standing, then?" asked Merlin. His voice sounded odd to his own ears, the attempt at humour only half-hearted. It was remarkably different to find energy for anything, now.

Lancelot gave him a knowing look. "Last time I looked. The floor in the third pantry collapsed again. The new squires are even worse than the last batch; something about fearing for their own lives affecting their performance. Arthur, of course, is perfectly miserable."

"His aim may start to deteriorate, now that he doesn't have someone to throw things at."

"Ah, that might explain all the targets he's been shredding lately." Lancelot smiled uncertainly, then cleared his throat. "He didn't tell anyone why, you know. The whole citadel is wondering. He's been letting you get away with all manner of things for years, so no one can figure out what you could have done to warrant something as severe as exile. The good news is that no one seriously suspects sorcery."

Merlin snorted. Then, he frowned. "What's the bad news?"

Lancelot grinned. "The most popular theory is - let's just say that all the whispers about Arthur and Gwen and myself have been utterly usurped by a new scandalous love triangle."

It took Merlin painfully long to work out what Lancelot was hinting at. "What?" he squeaked. "Me and Gwen?"

Lancelot laughed. Voice gentle, he said, "She does love you, you know. I think, once, she thought - well." The Knight tossed over the bag he'd brought with him. It was packed full, and surprisingly heavy. "She sent you some food, and warmer clothing. The wine is from Gwaine, the knife is from Elyan, and the pot is from Percival. Gaius told me to tell you to keep out of trouble, and gave me your magic book."

Merlin let out a noise of alarm. "You were walking around Camelot with that book? What if somebody tried to look into your bag?"

"Merlin, you did riskier things every day; you used magic right under Uther's nose," chided Lancelot. After a moment, he added, embarrassed, "And none of the guards will check my bag, anyway. Gwaine wanted to be the one to see you tonight, but I pointed out that there's a higher chance of someone poking into his things, between all the people he owes money to and all the guards he's annoyed."

Oh, of course. The guards and Knights and possibly the whole of Camelot idolized Lancelot, especially after he sacrificed himself to appease the Dorocha that Morgana had set loose on Samhain. He could probably leave his bag in the middle of market and ask people not to disturb it, and the local pickpockets would knife anybody who so much as touched it. 

To her credit, Aithusa never bothered asking if he was all right. (He doubted Lancelot or Gwaine believed him, either, but it was not as if he could give any other answer to their worried faces.) The numbness of the first few days slowly faded into a kind of coldness; ice that seeped into his bones and took root there, adding weight to all the parts of him until movement felt slow and excruciating. There were moments when fire would flash through him (anger and frustration and _not fair, none of it_ ) and it _hurt_ , like ice cracking and bursting under sudden heat.

He was well-versed, now, in finding things to eat in the forest. He let Aithusa supply them with meat, and occasionally caught fish for them both from the deep pond on one end of the cove, which he'd determined was fed by an underground stream. Aithusa tried to fish, as well, but her quarry disappeared, presumably diving deep, the moment her shadow fell over the surface of the pond.

“You can return to the covert, you know,” said Merlin to Aithusa, while Lancelot made himself comfortable on the other side of the fire. “Arthur only banished me. The laws of men aren’t the same as the laws of dragons.”

Aithusa let out a disbelieving snort. “I do miss our friends. But it would not be right for me to return without you.”

“The covert is dry and warm,” said Merlin. “And out of the rain. I know you must miss it.”

“A little. But, Merlin,” Aithusa nosed at him, and it felt like an affectionate rebuke, “Don’t you know why I like the covert, why every dragon there likes being in the caves? It is because they are full of _you_ ; your love for dragons has soaked into the air and the stone. When I lit the walls, it was for love of you, because I could tell that the covert was a place you consider home. _Sanctuary_. I could not stay there knowing you cannot return.”

 

~*~

 

One month into Merlin's exile saw Lancelot and Elyan bursting into the cove in the middle of the day, out of breath.

Dread dragged harshly on Merlin's gut. "What is it?" Aithusa, who'd been dozing, was scrambling to her feet, chirping, "Arthur?"

Elyan shook his head. "No. Gwen."

A wealthy, well-known merchant had presented himself at court, they explained. Nothing had seemed out of the ordinary; the King had reaffirmed the merchant's long-standing permission to trade within Camelot and make arrangements with the local merchants. Gifts were presented, and a modest feast held. The merchant's goods were fairly expensive, but the quality was usually as good as promised. Lancelot had bought a new scabbard; Gwaine, a new tunic; Gwen, a pair of shoes. Then the merchant had left, and in the organized chaos of the citadel, it had taken two days for anyone to notice that Gwen had also disappeared.

"Do you think the merchant kidnapped her?" asked Merlin.

"It could just be a coincidence," Lancelot admitted. "But the merchant was the only new person at court since you-" he stopped.

Since Merlin left. Since Merlin had been _banished_. Did the Knight think that Merlin's magic came with some kind of evil-detector? But then, Lancelot had always had a ridiculously high opinion of Merlin and Merlin's abilities. Did Elyan know? Did the rest of the Knights? He didn't know why Arthur hadn't told them, why Arthur hadn't simply announced Merlin as a foul sorcerer. Perhaps it was one of those political things; it would probably reflect badly on the royal household if people found out that a sorcerer had been able to hide there, undetected, for years. Yes, Arthur must be thinking about the rest of the household.

"Did you ask one of the dragons to try tracking her?" 

Elyan nodded. "Elpis said that it's hard to follow one specific person, but she was able to track the path taken by the merchant's caravan for about five leagues." He shifted uneasily, glancing between the other two men. "Then, it was as if they disappeared. She wasn't sure, but she thought she could smell some kind of magic at work, and that may be masking the caravan's trail." He hesitated.

“What is it?”

“Elpis said recognized the magic. Something about the scent of it,” said Lancelot. “She said it had the same scent as on those dead villagers we’ve found, and those fires a few months ago.”

“Morgana,” said Merlin. The two Knights nodded. “But why take Gwen?”

"Maybe she intends to use Gwen against Arthur," said Elyan. 

Merlin could only agree. Neither Arthur nor Gwen had explained what had happened, but even if Arthur's proposal hadn't gone as successfully as Arthur had hoped, it was clear that he still cared deeply about Gwen. He can only imagine the kind of ransom Morgana would demand, not to mention what she might do to Gwen in the meantime.

A part of him wanted to hope she would remember that Gwen had been her closest friend, once. But perhaps that would only make it worse - her anger and hate and whatever Morgause had taught her had soured the compassion that Merlin had once known in his friend, had twisted the brightness into something cold and deadly, double-edged. She'd loved Arthur, too, once.

He threw himself onto Aithusa, and the two Knights ran back to where Leon must be waiting with Elpis. Aithusa took to the air with dizzying speed.

“Find her, dearest,” said Merlin to Aithusa, as they winged their way back to Camelot to pick up the trail. “I know you can. Help me find her and bring her home.”

 

~*~

 

Gwen was clinging to him hard enough to hurt, her hands squeezing his wrists while she sat in front of him. He didn't tell her to ease up, though; he'd be clinging back just as hard, if he weren't holding onto Aithusa's harness. Beneath him, he could feel the bunch and pull of Aithusa's muscles, her great wings clawing at the unnaturally windless air to gain even more speed. He could feel the shadows Morgana had sent after them trying to keep up. His skin crawled at the memory of that hissing, roiling cloud, mostly shapeless, flying after them through the dark forest, snapping at their heels.

But Aithusa's hard work paid off; the shadows fell back, taking their dread-calls and terror-casts with them. The night seemed less dark with every wing-stroke towards Camelot. Arthur often commented that the borders between lands were often disputable, amorphous, unless there was a clear physical landmark. But something here must know, perhaps something in the land itself, because Merlin thought he could feel it: an invisible barrier where Morgana's influence could spread no further.

Right before they crossed into Camelot, Merlin saw something out of the corner of his eye. He thought it was a large bird, at first, or a small dragon, only it had human hands and a human face. He had less than a second to register its presence, during which his magic screamed _danger_ ; it raised one hand and _threw_ something into the air, almost daintily. Merlin was already covering Gwen with his body, but he plastered himself more firmly over her back. He felt the tiniest prick on his back, right below the left shoulderblade, more pressure than pain. Then he felt like he'd been punched, hard, the breath driven out of his lungs; he would have doubled over if he weren't already bent low, trying to keep them both as flat as possible over Aithusa's neck.

 _Merlin?_

He stroked a reassuring hand over Aithusa's shoulder. _It is nothing,_ he said. Not a full lie: he didn't know what _it_ was. _Just keep flying._

He didn't think Gwen had noticed. It was entirely possible that the creature he'd seen was only visible to those with magic. When the first wave of shaking hit, he quickly drew the hood of his cloak over his head. He belatedly realized that he was wearing the cloak of the dragon-captains; he'd put it on out of habit. He didn't feel inclined to change it now, just to spare Arthur's sensibilities.

Not to mention, he was rapidly losing feeling in his hands.

By the time the citadel came into view, Merlin had had to lean back, separating his body from Gwen. Fortunately, she seemed assume that his shivering and laboured breathing were due to the chase and the close escape.

There was a heavy _thump_ , followed by Aithusa saying, "We're here," but why did she sound so far away?

"Thank you, thank you," and that was Gwen, and she was hugging him, face pressed into his shoulder. His wrists felt covered in ice after she released them. He managed to lift his head enough to see the familiar facade of the citadel looming ahead, golden in the torchlight, and the rooftops of the lower town. Evidently Aithusa had known better than to try to land in the courtyard, though Merlin was quite sure the guards and lookouts had seen them flying in.

"Merlin, are you all right?" asked Gwen. She was already on the ground; he'd missed her sliding off. "Won't you come in for a bit? Himself won't bother you, I'll make sure of it."

"'S all right," Merlin mumbled. He hated to disappoint Gwen, who'd never been anything but kind to him. He was sure she and Arthur would sort their differences out, eventually; he was glad enough to have bought them time for that. His friends deserved happiness, and each other. 

And then, because he was familiar enough with the pain currently gnawing away at his insides to recognize that there might not be another time for it, managed a soft, "Take care, Gwen. Him, too."

A group of guards were making their way down the central road out of the lower town, chainmail jangling. Merlin, lightheaded, threw them a jaunty wave as Aithusa threw herself back into the air. He saw a lone figure, on horseback, overtaking the guards and making for Gwen; no helmet, hair gleaming gold, the damn idiot may well be in his sleeping clothes still under the royal blue cloak. Affection welled up in Merlin, love biting more sharply than whatever spell was wracking his body. 

Merlin could think of a million sights worse than Arthur in a rage, brilliantly beautiful in his protectiveness and relief and joy, even if it was meant for someone else. So he doesn't move his gaze, until the night sky fell on him and wrapped him up tight enough that all the stars blinked out, and he knew nothing more.

 

~*~

 

It was hardly a secret that Merlin, the King's exiled manservant-turned-dragon-handler, had been the one to rescue the fair maiden Guinevere from the clutches of Morgana, the evil witch, and return her to her heartbroken King; it couldn't be, when half the guards on duty had seen the distinctive white dragon landing just outside of the lower town, and Arthur had been so relieved to get Gwen back that he'd neglected to give them all a talk about flapping tongues and the perils of facilitating the rumour mill. 

He tried to console himself with the observation that there was not a single complaint about a dragon venturing so close to the lower town. In fact, a straight-faced Leon reported that a number of people in the market were openly expressing their regret at not witnessing the whole thing when their homes were _right there, right by the main gate_. There'd been a lot of sighing and swooning, according to the Knight.

And now Arthur kept getting _sympathetic looks_ from people. Matronly noblewomen tried to offer him advice on how to top Merlin's gallant act of rescue. Actually, so did some of the Knights; Gaius heard him saying so and quipped that the two groups had more in common than one would think. 

Arthur had been prepared for all manner of scandals, as both the Prince and the King, and had even half-expected it with the rumours between Gwen and Lancelot. It was natural for people to have an interest in the personal affairs of their King. He just hadn't expected how _strongly_ people would feel about it. It was doubly mortifying to realize that most of his subjects were more concerned about Gwen and Merlin, rather than Arthur.

"It's because they're commoners as well," Gwaine explained, unrepentantly gleeful, "And well-liked. No one cares about your sorry arse. The citadel folks are all for Merlin getting the girl. The town is more traditional with the common-girl-becoming-the-Queen. And then there are people who think both Merlin and Gwen are too good for you, so the issue is which one would be able to handle you better."

Arthur resisted the urge to throw his goblet at the Knight. The last part caught his attention. "Wait, what do you mean - as in, Merlin would be - some people are matching Merlin with _me_?"

"Well, it's a proper love triangle, isn't it?" Gwaine smirked. And then, in an odd tone, "What, do you find the idea objectionable?"

"What?" Arthur stared. "No, it's not that." Arthur had never cared who other people preferred to keep company with, as long as everyone involved was of age and sound of mind and there was consent all around. Uther, for all his narrow-minded views and stubborn prejudice in other areas, had been surprisingly mild on this issue. (Arthur had always suspected Gaius' influence, and then forbade his brain from following that line of thought any further.) 

Arthur had grown up hearing many terrible jokes about how Uther, unlike other Kings, did not care what went on in his subjects' beds, as long as there weren't sorcerors hiding underneath them.

He also had suspicions on why Gwaine always looked a little pained on the rare times he spoke of his family, why Gwaine was here instead of with them; Gwaine was loud, and brash, and reckless, and would never allow others to keep him a secret.

"Arthur," said Gwaine, making him realize that he'd been quiet too long. "Don't you - surely you know how Merlin feels about you?"

"He hates me, of course," Arthur said, automatically. Merlin had gone and made a spectacle of himself, rescuing Gwen and bringing her home on a giant white dragon, and was likely off somewhere laughing at the thought of Arthur being advised by his own men to hunt down a great beast and offer its treasure to Gwen, in order to win back her heart. 

Gwen, who, despite being the only other person who somewhat shared his predicament, was ignoring him. Well, she had embraced him, hard, their combined relief melting them into one another, and then had marched off in a huff, after which she'd proceeded to avoid him with surprising efficiency. He suspected a conspiracy with the staff.

He supposed that he should not have made that comment about "Merlin finally being good for something". He hadn't meant it, had regretted it the moment the words left his mouth, only partly because of the way she'd looked ready to hit him for it; she might as well have, since the stories about that night, all from people who could neither have been there nor heard anything spoken, agreed that she had.

Gwaine actually _rolled his eyes_ at Arthur. "I don't mean _now_ \- and he doesn't, anyway, though it would serve you right - I meant _before_ , or, you know, in general."

Arthur just stared at him.

The look on Gwaine's face was very close to pity. "Just the fact that he put up with _this_ for years must have been a clue." He made an exasperated noise, and spun around, marching for the door. "I need a drink."

Arthur stared for a moment longer, thoughts careening into each other and trying to crawl out of his skull, and decided to go with him.

 

~*~

 

A night of drinking with Gwaine was something Arthur always, invariably, regretted the day after, but he would forget about it until the moment he opened his eyes and the world tried to dance on his eyeballs. Shod in metal. He was fairly sure he'd picked up something more than nascent alcoholism in the seedy tavern Gwaine had taken them to, because the lethargy lingered the whole day. He felt heavy and slow the day after that, enough that he actually went to Gaius; the physician was utterly unsympathetic while he poked and prodded at Arthur, eventually announcing that he was perfectly healthy.

This was the reason why he didn't notice when his Knights became quieter than usual. They still fulfilled their duties, their work never faltering, but sometimes they would hold discussions in low voices and stopped when he drifted close enough to hear. He did his best to not notice it, the same way he'd refused to notice how Lancelot or Gwaine would sometimes be mysteriously unreachable for a night.

Agravaine, of course, was always happy to report any hint of wrongdoing from the Knights. "I had some men ask around, sire, and they've heard that a certain white dragon has been sneaking into the covert over the last few days."

Arthur silently wondered why his family gave him more trouble than even his enemies. "Did your men see her handler?" Easier to say that than _Merlin_. Arthur suddenly didn't trust himself to say the name, irrationally worried about what his uncle would hear in his voice. "Has he been sighted inside the city?"

"No," admitted Agravaine. "But the handler can't be far from the dragon. And one man can hide, while a dragon is difficult to conceal."

It occurred to Arthur, then, that Merlin was likely perfectly capable of hiding Aithusa. They could have been visiting the city _every day_. But no, surely Arthur would _know_ , somehow. He pushed those thoughts aside. Aithusa could well be dropping by without Merlin; perhaps she missed her friends in the covert, or had left something there that she needed. In any case, he'd banished the handler, not the dragon. A technicality which made him glad that they were following human law; dragon law, or so Aithusa had told him, treated the dragon and their handler as one and the same.

"Are your men sure that the dragon is Aithusa?" Arthur challenged. "It may well be a different dragon with similar coloring. Every day, people speak of seeing her." A far cry from the old days when mere rumor of a dragon near Camelot would have meant locked gates at night and people arming themselves with crossbows when they went into the countryside. Now children gathered outside the lower town at sunrise and sunset to see the Knights-of-the-Air leave for practice or patrol.

Arthur expected his Knights to speak to him about Merlin at some point, and the choice of spokesperson would give him an idea of which approach the men deemed to be most effective. He mostly expected it to be Elyan, the voice of friendship and reason, and thus the man most frequently nominated to speak for the group as a whole. Leon taking him aside would suggest a concern about his duties and the effective execution thereof; Percival would signal uncertainty about the covert or the dragons; Gwaine would indicate that the Knights thought he needed a good fight, needed to be taken out of his own head briefly.

In the end, it was Lancelot who darkened Arthur's door. The late hour, plus the mountain of reports that had thoroughly occupied the many hours before it, had Arthur blinking numbly at his friend for a full minute. Some days - and this was awful, he knew - he forgot that the man had come back to them.

"Arthur," Lancelot greeted him, stepping into the room after Arthur granted him a tiny nod. Arthur saw, with some surprise, that Gaius stood in the hallway outside. Arthur swallowed against the sudden plummeting of his stomach. "It's. You have to understand, she didn't want us to tell you. But. I don't think there's much time, now."

Arthur stared at him blankly. His brain, which had been full to overflowing of blurry words and dense cobwebs of court politics only a moment ago, now felt curiously empty, puzzled-silent.

Lancelot took a deep breath. "You have to come." And Lancelot - was not the type to _demand_ , he always asked politely, never putting pressure on others. Which was why, the rare times Lancelot's voice carried that note of _trust me and do as I say right now_ , Arthur usually found himself obeying before he even consciously decided to.

He followed the Knight out to the courtyard, where Elpis was already waiting, and tried not to think of how nobody tried to stop them, the citadel _too quiet_ in the way the hallways and his chambers and the empty minutes of his days had been these past weeks; he did not think about how the guards and servants avoided his eyes, while the Knights looked at him with pity.

 

~*~

 

They came to a large lake, and something wiggled at the back of Arthur's memory - he'd been here before, he knew, though he wasn't sure why this was important since he'd been to a great number of places in all his years as the heir of Uther. He spotted Aithusa from far off, a white shape not far from the edges of the water. She looked conspicuously bright and visible under the crescent moon, and he wondered if this was due to Merlin's- if this was Merlin's doing, or just a natural property of her colouring. 

Elpis followed the curve of the lake, and with the slight shift in angle, Arthur saw that Aithusa was half-curled around something, the way she lay almost mirroring the sickle shape of the moon above.

By the time they landed, Arthur's heart was beating wildly. He thought, for a moment, that he wasn't able to move from Elpis' back, and then he was skidding to a halt next to the unmoving dragon. He saw her eyes opening, but that was it, and then he put her out of his mind completely, stepping over her tail. There, lying partly on the dragon's forelegs, was Merlin, could only be Merlin; Arthur recognized the dragon-captain's cloak, the deep hood pulled over his head, the much-scuffed shoes, the long fingers sticking out of the folds of fabric. The Pendragon red looked black in the dark.

There was a smell in the air that made Arthur think of dead villages in the winter. His fingers moved without his permission, twitching over the hood of the cloak and pulling it back.

Static emptiness whited out the inside of Arthur's head, and then, _too late, too late, he's gone, too late_.

"Arthur!" Strong hands closed around Arthur's fingers. He wasn't sure what he'd been doing, or what he'd meant to do; he thought Aithusa would bite his hands off if he was doing something Merlin didn't want. But her eyes remained the only part of her that was moving, and there was a blankness in the way she watched Arthur. As if she knew that Merlin was beyond hurting, that Arthur could do no more harm (than he'd already done).

"He's not dead," said Lancelot. "He's close to it. But not yet."

But Arthur's father had been 'not dead' for over a year. 

"Merlin," he called, his voice rough and strange to his own ears.

"Aithusa said he fell unconscious right after they dropped off Gwen, and hasn't woken since," said Lancelot.

"She's been coming to the city," Arthur remembered.

"Yes. She came looking for Gaius, at first, and wouldn't tell anyone why." Lancelot released Arthur's hands. "The rest of us didn't think much of it. And then the dragons stopped talking."

Arthur blinked. He had a vague memory of Decima speaking to Percival, but he realized that that had been weeks ago. He'd been avoiding the covert and the dragons; the entire citadel likely knew why. 

"You know about Merlin's-" Arthur wiggled his fingers.

Lancelot hesitated, then nodded.

Arthur let out a long breath. "How?"

An unreadable look settled on Lancelot's face. "A Gryffin can only be killed by magic, you know."

The seeming non-sequitur confused Arthur, until he remembered the circumstances of Lancelot's (first) knighting. "You left right after. Were you afraid of him then?"

"No!" Lancelot looked shocked at the suggestion. "Never that. It was because I couldn't take responsibility for something I didn't do."

Of course he couldn't. And the Knight's words started a cascade of thoughts in Arthur's head: all the beasts and spells and sorcerers he'd faced over the years, and defeated, seemingly by strength of arms. How Merlin was always inexplicably _there_ , in the periphery, making a fool of himself and complaining loudly and always, always running after Arthur.

His father would claim it all being a part of a sorcerer’s devious plan, to grow close to Arthur and undermine his authority from within. It seemed ironic now that Uther had been the one to place Merlin in Arthur's household. Good gods, Merlin had been practicing magic under Uther's very nose! Merlin had helped Arthur, there was no doubt about that, kept him safe behind his back, kept him alive to become King...

... and then had told him. Had volunteered the information himself, willingly, albeit with an ridiculous amount of flailing and stuttering and false starts. 

"He's a good man, Arthur," said Lancelot gravely. "And braver than all of us, I think. Doesn't he deserve better than to die alone in the woods?"

The image filled Arthur's mind: Merlin, lying pale and still on the cold ground, with only Aithusa as witness, her fire spreading over him. It didn't take much imagination, with the way Merlin seemed hardly to be breathing now. Would they even have found out, if Merlin had died right away, and there'd been no reason for Aithusa to fetch Gaius? Perhaps they would have suspected, if the Knights looked for him and never found him. But they would never have known for sure.

"He does deserve better," said Arthur. He looked up and waved Leon over; the other Knight practically tumbled off Elpis in his hurry to dismount. "Let's bring him home."


	10. Dreams So Dark And Daring

  


**CHAPTER NINE: DREAMS SO DARK AND DARING**

_Finding Gwen had been more luck than anything. Aithusa’s keen sense of smell only got them as far as Elpis’ had, but then Merlin was able to follow the trail of magic a little further. It dissipated around the Valley of the Fallen Kings, but Aithusa pressed on. They came to the southern border and its sloping pass. Instinct had Merlin bidding Aithusa to land, rather than flying right through._

_There was a flare of light through the trees. Aithusa was disquieted, because she could not smell any people nearby, even though there was clearly a travelling party there. Merlin had crept on alone, and found a number of caravans that must belong to the merchant. He spotted Gwen’s head through the window of one. She was unconscious, but began to stir the moment he carried her out of the camp._

_He wasn’t entirely sure what happened then – there was shouting, and running, and suddenly it seemed as if the very woods came alive around them. There were teeth snapping at their heels, but when Merlin looked over his shoulder, he saw no animals. He kept going, though he feared that the dark forest would somehow trap them and prevent them from ever escaping._

_And then Aithusa was above them, smashing down trees. The air rippled, and Merlin could feel something trying to push the dragon away, but Aithusa let loose a stream of flame, and Merlin ducked with his arms wrapped around Gwen as long, long talons scooped down, and Gwen was the one who pushed them onto Aithusa’s palm, and they were lifting away-_

 

"He knew," said Gwen quietly. 

"Hmm?" Arthur tiredly rubbed his eyes. Wondered idly if the way both Gwen and himself had become permanent fixtures of Merlin's bedside was dispelling the love-triangle rumors or making them worse. "Knew what?"

"That something was wrong. Morgana sent all these... spells, or creatures, or both, after us. He made sure I sat in front of him. I think one of them got him. By the time we made it here, he was slumped over and having a hard time breathing. I didn't think much of it, because I wasn't exactly calm either."

"Gwen." He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You weren't to know."

"No. I know. I mean, I didn't, obviously, but I couldn't have, I get that." She bit her lip. "It's just..."

"What?"

" _He_ knew. He knew something was wrong. And the citadel had been _right there_. I asked him to come and rest for a while. Even if the two of you are still fighting, you wouldn't refuse him help if he was hurt."

Arthur stared at the clean linen of the bed. It was always humbling, and also terrifying, to be reminded of how much faith people had in him, as if his decisions would always be the just and right ones. Would he have let Merlin into the citadel? Maybe if he were cut and bleeding, but there was no visible wound on Merlin's body. A part of Arthur would always wonder if it was just a ploy to get back into the city. 

"What if he'd gone to Gaius at the start?" Gwen continued on, oblivious to all the ways Arthur was twisted up inside. "Gaius might have found a cure by now."

"I'm sorry," slipped out of Arthur's mouth, without his brain having any say on it.

Gwen rounded on him. "Don't _you_ start, Arthur Pendragon. Yes, you shouldn't have exiled him, whatever it was he did, but the way you two carried on it was bound to happen sooner or later, you are both utterly ridiculous sometimes. But if we're throwing around blame then a bit of it is mine, too, because Merlin got hurt rescuing me; and some of it is his, because he should have stayed and _told us_ and gotten help."

She huffed, blinking fast, and stormed out of the room. Arthur stared after her, a little stunned, and went back to staring at Merlin.

He thought back on that night, when the lookouts had announced that a white dragon that could only be Aithusa was approaching the citadel, and Arthur had guessed what it meant, had ridden down towards the lower town with only a heavy cloak thrown over his thin shirt and breeches. He remembered seeing Aithusa's shape, at the edge of where the light from the torches of the lower town reached. The foremost thought then had been relief at seeing Gwen getting down from Aithusa's back. By the time his gaze flew up to seek out the figure riding on Aithusa's back, the dragon was already lifting away. He'd gotten only a glimpse of the cloak, flapping against Aithusa's hide, Merlin's head covered by the hood. He'd been glad to see Merlin leave, sparing them both the awkwardness of the situation.

 _I do not wish to ever see your face again._ Evidently, Merlin had taken him at his word.

Now he realized that that might have been his last chance. 

 

~*~

 

He rounded the corner of the passageway, one level below the main, in time to see Pasy growl at Aithusa. Droplets fell onto the ground around her. Arthur had seen a cow keel over, dead, mere minutes after receiving a dose of the Sharpspitter venom. But Aithusa merely stared at the young dragon flatly, unimpressed, and after a moment Pasy bowed her head, tail thumping the ground unhappily. Another growl, and Arthur remembered that the dragons couldn't be understood anymore. 

But then Aithusa said, "No, it wasn't nice, but it was _necessary_. It would have been worse for all of us if you'd gotten your way and flown right after her; then Morgana would have stolen her _and_ you. Merlin and I got her back for you, as I told you we would, and Merlin got hurt doing it, so I don't see why _you_ are upset about anything."

Aithusa stalked off down a different passageway. Arthur followed her, heart thumping; did she blame him for what happened to Merlin? She must know why they'd had to leave Camelot. Arthur was so distracted by his anxiety, and his eyes not entirely adjusted yet to the underground dimness, that he nearly ran into her hindleg.

"Is there something you want, Arthur King?" she asked.

He stumbled back. There'd been a list, in his head, of things he wanted to ask her, but all of them skittered away in favor of: "Why can I still understand you?"

She sniffed. "Understanding the speech of dragons has always been a benefit of the presence of a dragonlord. Dragons are creatures of magic; our speech is not entirely rooted in sound. The dragonlord provides a bridge between the magic of dragons and the magic of men."

"We only began hearing the dragons speaking after you were hatched," Arthur realized. "But now - is your magic weakened because of what's happened to Merlin?"

Aithusa tilted her head at him. "Of course it is. But I think you misunderstand - _I_ am not the dragonlord. Merlin is."

Arthur blinked. "I thought you said-"

The dragon sighed, as if drawing deep from a well of patience. "I am a Great Dragon, which means I was born of human and dragon magic both. It is tradition for a dragonlord to be paired with a Great Dragon, for we carry both kinds of magic." A low rumble of grief came from her, and Arthur felt his body shiver in sympathy. "Merlin's was the voice I followed into waking. And now his magic slips away from me."

Arthur swallowed. "Is there a way to save him?"

"Yes."

The absolute lack of hesitation made Arthur gape. "What is it? Why aren't you doing it?"

"Because it is something I cannot do alone." Aithusa lowered her head, the gold of her eyes sharper than a blade. "Are you done running, Arthur Pendragon? Magic is a part of this land, a part of your past - a part of you, if you would but see it. I understand that it is not your fault that you do not know much about it, but you are a King now, and the King is the land. Merlin would rather die than risk your happiness. I want to believe that you are not coward enough to let him do it."

"I shall tell you about what I know of his affliction. Morgana sent many creatures after us, so I could not be sure until after he succumbed. But I believe he was hit by a dart from a sorrow-bird. It is more a spell than a physical poison. It strikes the heart, seeking out love thwarted, love unrequited, and buries its roots in the empty spaces hollowed out by this love unreturned. Meant for Gwen, I think; I'm sure Morgana believes her to be heartbroken and rejected by you. Whether the hurts in Gwen's heart were not great enough for the dart, or Merlin's was greater, or Merlin simply absorbed all of it, I do not know, and it does not matter."

"Wasn't the dragon-bond supposed to protect him from these kinds of spells?" asked Arthur.

"Yes," said Aithusa. "But love burrows deep, over time; this is far older than I, has changed him and grown with him and become a part of him." She gave Arthur a pointed look. 

"How do we cure it?"

"You must find out," said Aithusa. Arthur nodded, and set for the library at the citadel with renewed purpose.

It was only much later that he realized _you must find out_ did not mean _I don't know_.

 

~*~

 

Arthur scoured his mother's library for all he could find about Great Dragons. There was a surprising amount, especially in the books about Camelot's history. They confirmed what Aithusa had told him, and added to the weight in his gut - the weight that told him that he already knew where this was going, had maybe known all along.

He wandered the hallways and found himself, not surprisingly, in the room they'd put Merlin in. The moon shone high and bright through the window, and the world seemed leeched of color. Arthur went to the window facing the courtyard and saw Aithusa sleeping there. To his surprise, he also saw small points of light on the ground around her. She shifted, slightly, and they flickered.

 _Candles_ , Arthur realized. People had come and left candles for Merlin.

Arthur stared at her, her colouring making her look like a crescent moon over the stones, and thought of lights in the dark, burning silver-blue, floating above him to lead the way to safety.

 

~*~

 

"What can I do?" demanded Arthur, storming into the covert. "I have no magic."

Fortunately, the only dragon in the passageway in level one below-the-main was Junius, who gave him an impatient look. "Magic is not just spells and prophecy and _tricks_." The dragon's voice gentled. "Magic is a young boy, far from home, finding his destiny; magic is a kind King keeping his compassion in an unkind world; magic is when lost souls build a home with each other; magic is when love withstands betrayal and deceit."

Arthur crouched down next to Junius, rubbing a hand over his face and hair. "What about when a dragon can still be understood even after all the other dragons, save Aithusa, are not?"

"That is just stubbornness, forged by old age," said Junius drily. "Magic lingers in Anglewings longer than most other breeds."

"I'll do it," said Arthur. "Whatever it takes, I'll do it."

Junius regarded him carefully for a moment. Then, he let out a low roar that seemed to shake the entire covert.

"Surely she can't hear you from all the way down here?" said Arthur.

"She can," said Junius. "The covert is older than the city above. The citadel was built to carry sounds from the covert."

Aithusa arrived just as Arthur was sitting down on the ground in the holding chamber. 

“Don’t we need to be where Merlin is?” asked the King.

“This is dragon-magic,” said Aithusa. “I am linked to Merlin; he and I are one and the same, under our laws.”

Aithusa settled down, and calmly made fire, the stream of flames curling in mid-air until they formed a ball. “Now I need you to think of Merlin,” she instructed him.

Arthur’s eyes widened when the ball of fire turned from red-gold to blue-white. “Why have you made it like that?”

“ _I_ did not,” said Aithusa. “The change came from you. Merlin is caught in a dream that he will share only with you; you must do the guiding, now.”

The first place he came to was a maze. It took him a moment to place it - the Labyrinth of Gedref. He took a few steps in a random direction, and the green walls blurred, breaking into an infinity of sand-grains, which resettled into the Fisher King’s castle. A few more steps, and he was in the Crystal Cave. Then it was Ealdor, the cave where they’d found Balinor, the Tomb of Ashkanar. All of them memories he shared with Merlin, and he was surprised, somehow, by the sheer number of them. He saw them each in a new light, awareness of Merlin’s magic casting years of companionship anew.

It dawned on him that he no longer felt anger at the deceit; that had burned out far quicker than he would ever confess. The choice was simple: to accept Merlin and his magic, or to lose him. The days spent at Merlin’s bedside, and the weeks of Merlin’s absence before, had left Arthur tired, heartsick. He hadn’t known how to handle losing Merlin to this slow wasting-magic, when he’d thought there was nothing to be done; it seemed inconceivable, now, to purposefully give him up, when Arthur alone had the power to save him.

His surroundings resettled into a hut that Arthur immediately identified: Dragoon. The memory of that time brought an ache to Arthur’s chest. He stood, frozen, mind skittering around thoughts he’d avoided contemplating. He knew that the surroundings would not change until he walked. He thought, _Merlin_ , grief and anger boiling up, but he took the necessary steps, and he was not surprised to find himself in his father’s room, looking out over the empty bed.

He did not know how long he stayed there, held fast by memories and regret. But the reminder that he was a son bereaved was also a reminder that he was the son of a King, a King himself now, and in the end it had been his choice, all of it. The only point where another might be held accountable narrowed down to one question - did Arthur believe that Merlin killed his father? 

“Merlin!” he shouted. “Where are you?”

He was not all surprised to receive no reply.

Somehow, that made it easier to release all the words that had been building up in the back of Arthur’s mind. He did not have to be the King here. What that left behind, he wasn’t sure, but he suspected Merlin had a better idea than he did. “You are infuriating, and never think about what you’re doing, and I have not yet forgiven you for your damned secrets. You’ve been _lying_ to me since the day we met. You test my patience on the best of days, and I am frequently tempted to crush your throat with my bare hands just to get you to be quiet.”

His surroundings wavered, and then broke apart. Arthur found himself in the covert, but not in any part he’d visited before. He had a sense of being deep underground. He stomped along the passageway. “You throw yourself into trouble with no regard for your own safety. You cast accusations at Agravaine, my own uncle, never thinking about what I have to do to smooth things over, to keep the peace at court, to dissuade him from _challenging you to a duel_.”

There was the sound of movement in a cave ahead. Arthur quickened his steps, and slipped into the cave to find a large dragon, approximately the size of Aithusa, lying on the ground. Arthur approached slowly. The dragon looked up, clearly in pain, and yet pinned Arthur with a sharp blue gaze.

“You’re an absolute _idiot_ ,” Arthur said softly. He reached out and ran a hand along the dragon’s neck. The hide was warm, and coloured mainly brown and red, but there was a stripe of blue over the barrel of the chest, and a burst of brighter red around the base of the neck, not unlike the pattern of a neck-cloth. “You are ridiculous, and you make _me_ seem ridiculous, and I gave you _dragons_ because they made you happy. You looked after my Knights, the whole sorry lot of them, who came here as strangers, and you made us into a _family_. And I love Gwen, but you-“

Arthur leaned forward, touching his forehead to the dragon’s. “You, Merlin, are _essential_.”

 

~*~

 

The first thing Merlin said after waking up was: “My name is Merlin, named by the Druids as Emrys, and my parents are Hunith and Balinor. I have been able to speak to dragons and do magic all of my life, though they are separate things. I am a warlock and a dragonlord. My destiny is to protect you, and to help you become the greatest King that Albion has ever known; yet everything I have ever done has been for love of you.” He swallowed. “Did I forget anything?”

"Yes," said a familiar voice. There was a pause; Merlin didn't dare turn, could only focus on the sound of Arthur's breathing. "I accept your magic and your dragons, because they are a part of you. But they are for Camelot. The rest of you," Arthur faltered, and tried again, "you, Merlin, not the warlock or the dragonlord or the manservant, but you,” a hand came to rest on Merlin’s own, “You are for me."

 

It was never formally announced, nor widely spoken about. Yet, people came; trickling down from the citadel and the town, or from the main road where they'd travelled from more distant villages. They crowded in between the dense trees around the edges of the clearing as the sun slipped steadily towards the horizon.

The Knights had been in the covert since dawn. Once the sky began to darken, they filed out to stand in two lines in the middle of the clearing, dressed in full ceremonial armour and as neat as they had looked during Arthur's coronation. There was also a small selection of guards in a loose semi-circle at the far end of the clearing, standing at attention; Merlin was surprised to find Ylas among them. 

Dragons came in and out of the covert in a constant, seemingly restless stream. There were no shouts or sounds of alarm when some of them took their places in the clearing; in fact, a pack of children darted forward when Cesan sat down near one edge, perhaps attracted by the Bright Copper's cheerful coloring. He did not look particularly pleased by their attention, but let them clamber all over his tail and tug on the tips of his wings. Decima and Elpis were one of the last to come out, flying down from the newly-opened entrance higher up the hill. Every dragon in the covert made an appearance in the clearing, some taking a brief flight over Camelot; of the ones that stayed on the clearning instead of returning into the covert, there seemed to be no order to their placement, other than that one of every breed living in the covert was represented.

At the hour of sunset, horns sounded from the citadel far above. The spectators stirred. Gwen adjusted Merlin's cloak one last time, and then ushered him out through the tall, arching door as if he was the one holding up the ceremony. She went to stand right by the entrance of the covert, where Pasy was already waiting. 

Merlin shifted nervously under the weight of all the gazes trained on him. He could not begin to guess how many people were watching; at least a hundred, and the forest could well be hiding several times more that number.

He knew well how long it took to get from the Camelot to the covert, and it seemed to him that Arthur took _forever_ , even accounting for the dignified walk that the occasion warranted. Did the man visit houses and chatted with townspeople on the way down?

Finally, finally, Arthur was standing at the edge of the clearing; Merlin wondered if he'd lost time somehow, because one moment everyone was waiting, and then Arthur was there, no stirring or noise or anything, almost like magic if Merlin didn't know any better. 

Arthur was dressed in one of his simpler formal robes, which Merlin remembered from his coronation. He'd walked the whole way from the citadel to the clearing alone - well, curious onlookers probably followed him, adding to the number already watching, but he was _essentially_ alone - and it was fitting, but also sad. Merlin reminded himself that, after this, Arthur wouldn't be alone any longer.

He strode towards Merlin with steady purpose. The gold of his hair seemed to glow under the sunset sky, but it was his eyes that Merlin couldn't look away from, clear and blue and unwavering on Merlin in return. Merlin felt a burning in his chest and realized that he'd stopped breathing. He forced himself to relax, to swallow past the furious drumming of his heart.

Arthur stopped three paces in front of Merlin. They stared at each other as the minutes stretched, as the sun sank further and the night sky unfurled above them. It struck Merlin that, with Arthur's formal garb and Merlin's dragon-captain livery, this was a reverse of their usual states - Merlin was the one dressed for battle here. And Arthur had come to him, had come to the one place that had always been more Merlin's than Arthur's.

"Men forget their past too easily, and the land forgets with them." Even expecting it, Merlin startled a little at Kilgarrah's voice. The forest was awash with whispers when the Great Dragon stepped out of the covert. "I have come to this place for the last time to do this duty, as Great Dragons have done before me in a line unbroken since the very first of our kind was called from the shell."

Kilgarrah wove around Merlin and the nearby dragons - Junius, Laise, Pliny - to sit in the center of the clearing, facing Merlin and Arthur. "This is the tale of this land's beginning, as the dragons know it: the land that you call Camelot is dragonland, gifted to my kind by the ancient powers of the Old Religion. Some dragons believe that dragonkind began here. It is known that the first Great Dragon hatched in this very hill, when the tribe who lived alongside the dragons, all of whom studied and served the Old Religion, learned to combine the power of dragons with the spells of men. Soon after, war swept over Albion. Some dragons involved themselves, but most were content to let the war pass them by, and we lived here in peace."

"Until one day, after the fires of war had burnt out, a man was found wandering the hill, whom no one had seen before. He asked to be taken to the Great Dragon."

Kilgarrah paused expectantly. Merlin sent him a questioning look. To his shock, Arthur _knelt down_ , head bowed, and said in a clear voice, "I am a lone wanderer, who is also a king; my lands are ravaged, my people are starving. Will you give us shelter, Great One?"

"And the Great Dragon was moved by his plight," continued Kilgarrah, while Merlin silently reeled at the realization that Kilgarrah and Arthur must have spoken, must have discussed this ceremony at some point. "For he could see that the wanderer was a good and noble man. He agreed, and furthermore sent his dragons to bring the wanderer's people to their new home - on one condition."

"That the wanderer, who was a king, give his only child to the dragons, so that the child may protect the interests of the dragons in the affairs of men. The child grew into a wise and powerful man, alongside the Great Dragon he summoned from the shell. All the people, saw that both dragon and man, united, were stronger than either of them could be apart. They protected the land against invaders and sickness and drought. There came to be a new word for him, this man who was bonded to a Great Dragon: _dragonlord_ , one who was of men and dragons both."

"In the fullness of time, the wanderer grew old and passed the mantle to another man, the one among his advisors he judged most worthy. The new king was wise and good, but there were those who challenged his power. The conflict that followed left many men and dragons dead. The dragons began to shy away from men, and men began to distrust dragons in return. Ashamed, the king sought out the dragonlord."

"This life and these lands were shared with us out of kindness," intoned Arthur. "Yet, people will forget. Please, do not chase us out into the dark."

This was the part that Merlin knew. He closed the distance between himself and Arthur, and rested one hand on Arthur's head, where the tip of his crown would be if he'd worn it. "Be at ease, good King, for this land is the home of men now as surely as it has been the home of dragons." He swallowed, his voice wavering slightly. "And I love thee, and will not let thee go."

Arthur's head snapped up. Only a thin sliver of sun was left; the sky looked like it was on fire. Merlin stepped back, and King rose to his feet. He held his hand over Merlin's head, a mirror of what Merlin had done earlier. "I, Arthur Pendragon, recognize thee, Merlin Emrys, as _dragonlord_ , now and always, and charge thee with the keeping of the peace between our two peoples."

Silence, and then a joyous noise; Aithusa finally stepped out of the covert, her head raised to the sky in a loud, sonorous call that was more song than roar. All the dragons joined her, and then there was loud cheering from the Knights and guards and the forest all around them.

 

~*~

 

The rest of the night felt like a dream - but a strangely familiar one. Merlin thought that Arthur was caught in it, too, because Arthur did not seem surprised when Merlin followed him into Arthur's room. 

Merlin nearly began his nightly tasks, out of habit, when the door shut behind him and he found himself well within Arthur’s space, a hard breath away from touching. He didn’t know how long they gazed at each other, waiting, and then Merlin’s arms were full of Arthur and Arthur’s body was like a furnace against his and Merlin’s mouth was hotly seized. Merlin gasped at the sudden tide of sensation, and it was the easiest thing in the world to open up to Arthur, to let Arthur’s tongue delve deeply into his mouth, let Arthur’s strong hands stroke his back and clutch at him, possessive.

"Is this. Tell me this isn't-" Arthur said between kisses. "This isn't part of the ceremony."

"It is," said Merlin, pressing himself impossibly closer. He felt Arthur tensing, and hurried to explain, "I'm not doing this _because_ of the ceremony. Or, I would do it anyway. I've wanted to." He seized Arthur's shirt, yanking it up and intending to take it off, but then got distracted by the exposed skin of Arthur's abdomen, just begging for Merlin to put his greedy little hands over it. "By the gods, Arthur, don't you realize how long I've wanted you?"

Arthur gasped, "I think I'm getting the idea," and then he was pushing Merlin into his bed. Merlin eagerly went; the mattress and sheets were pathetically familiar, he almost couldn't believe that he'd finally be doing something on them other than sleep. 

"I don't think you do," countered Merlin, tugging Arthur in after him by the belt. "You made me _sleep with you_ , right here _in this bed_ , and I wanted to touch you so badly but _couldn't_. Do you invent new ways to torture me each year? It started with the stocks and went downhill from there."

Arthur's body covered him, his weight familiar and comforting, and their mouths met again and again, until Merlin was breathless from it, mouth lightly stinging. He shuddered hard when Arthur's groin met his, the heat and hardness there unmistakable. 

"You were explaining," said Arthur, breathless, "how this ties to the ceremony." He rolled his hips, and Merlin gasped, spreading his legs and planting his feet on the bed so he could thrust _up_. 

Arthur let out a strangled groan, one hand closing around Merlin's hip to keep him in place, and nipped at Merlin's ear, reminding him that Arthur was sadistic and expecting him to _form words_.

"The magic of men," attempted Merlin, "involves spells. Which give, _ah_! Guidelines. To the magic." He wasn't entirely sure when he lost his shirt, or his cloak, but it was hard to care when that was Arthur's tongue on his nipple, playing it to hardness. Merlin's hand was on the back of Arthur's head, digging into Arthur's hair, though he wasn't sure if he was trying to pull Arthur away or press him closer. "Dragon magic, _oh gods_ , mostly involve instinct."

Arthur nipped his way down Merlin's body. He paused at Merlin's navel to lick into it, then continued licking the thin trail of hair leading downwards. "What does that have to do with this?"

Merlin had to close his eyes and pull in a deep breath to keep from coming, because Arthur's Adam's apple was resting on his cock, and Merlin could feel the vibrations from his words. "Instinct. We want each other." He was fairly sure on that - nothing would have happened if this was only one-sided. "The ceremony was to tie us to one another. Can't complete if we're both still yearning for this."

"Well," said Arthur, his hands inching Merlin's trousers down with agonizing slowness. "I suppose we might as well, if it's for the good of the kingdom." He smiled at Merlin, beautiful and devastating.

Merlin had a clever retort, he really did, but Arthur finished removing his trousers and immediately took Merlin into his mouth. Merlin dearly, dearly hoped that no one they were familiar with was on guard that night; he was quite sure that his shouts could still be heard down the hallway.

"Please," he gasped, tugging at Arthur's hair. "Arthur, please, I want, I want you."

Arthur pulled off and climbed up the bed, allowing Merlin to pull him close. Merlin groaned at the smell and taste of himself in Arthur's mouth. He realized that Arthur must have removed his own trousers while Merlin was thrashing about on the bed, because Arthur's cock was a hot brand against hip. 

"Arthur," said Merlin, taking Arthur's lower lip between his teeth, licking over the plushness of it. "Arthur, I want you inside me."

A shudder ran through Arthur. " _Merlin_ \- I've always said your mouth will be the death of me." Which was entirely unfair, since Arthur had just sucked out most of Merlin's higher brain functions via his cock. 

Arthur leaned over to fumble with something in the bedside drawers. He came back with a vial in hand - which looked suspiciously like it had come from Gaius - and fingers coated with a fragrant oil.

The first finger went in easily, and the length of time Arthur spent pushing it in and out was likely more due to the wide-eyed wonder on Arthur's face than Merlin's body actually needing that level of care. Arthur eventually slid a second in, and Merlin relished the slight burn for a short while, before loudly demanding the third.

"I'm good, Arthur, trust me, I can take another, _please_ ," he begged, raising his hips for emphasis and sighing when the movement pushed Arthur's fingers in deeper. "Why are you taking so long, I know my own body."

"Merlin, you lose track of your own feet on a worryingly frequent basis," was Arthur's dry response. 

"That's different, I get _distracted_ , which I am definitely not now, believe me, but I do this to myself all the time and I know I'm ready-"

Arthur let out a muffled swear, face flushing even further, and Merlin realized that Arthur was envisioning Merlin pleasuring himself, pushing his own fingers up his arse. "Next time," groaned Arthur, "next time, I want to watch you. But now." The third finger brought exactly the burn Merlin wanted, and he sighed happily into it, spreading his thighs further so that Arthur could watch his fingers disappearing into Merlin's body.

When Arthur finally replaced his fingers with his cock, Merlin was more than ready, he was begging for it, "please, Arthur, I want to feel you inside me, I'm so close." Arthur captured his mouth, presumably to silence him, and pushed in, filling Merlin up in the way he'd always dreamed. The first few thrusts were slow, tentative, and Arthur looked like he couldn't quite believe this was happening. Then Merlin curled one leg over Arthur's side, his calf sliding on the sweat on Arthur's back, and used it to urge Arthur faster, "harder, please, I want to feel you tomorrow."

Arthur's thrusts sped up, short hard snaps that pushed Merlin into the sheets and made the bed shudder from the force of them. They were both sweating heavily, and Merlin's body felt like a mess of precome and drool, but he found it hard to care when he had Arthur between his thighs, caught up in passion and ablaze from it. Seemed impossible that it was for Merlin, that Arthur was now Merlin's. Merlin yelped when Arthur's cock touched something deep inside of him, sparking pleasure up and down his body. Arthur looked triumphant, and gripped Merlin by the hips, keeping him at the right position for Arthur to pound his cock into that molten spot again and again and again.

Merlin's climax swept through him like fire, like being bathed by Aithusa's flame, only sharper, brighter, robbing him of breath; he was sure he'd added tears to the pool of bodily fluids that was his body. Arthur bent down to kiss him, searching and deep, and the change of angle seemed to bring forth his own orgasm; he kept kissing Merlin through it, both their faces distinctly wet. Merlin wasn't sure he had any bones left, but he managed to bring up his arms and wrapped them around Arthur's shoulders, holding him while he shuddered and shook and spilled heat into Merlin's body.


	11. This Time It Wasn't The End

  


**CHAPTER TEN: THIS TIME IT WASN'T THE END**

Merlin did not realize just how heavily the anticipation of Morgana’s next move lay over the court until Leon came running into the throne room and announced, “It’s Morgana, sire, and she has an army.”

~*~

“Who is that large man next to Morgana?” asked Aithusa, while they flew over the gap between Camelot’s forces and Morgana’s men. 

“Helios, of the southron lands,” replied Merlin.

They were careful not to get too close to Morgana, though she didn’t seem to be paying them any attention. Her dragons appeared to be grounded, which seemed strange, but Merlin wasn’t about to protest the lack of enemies in the air with them. He reasoned that they might be reserving their strength for the proper attack.

There had been a few skirmishes through the pass, small bands of men testing Camelot’s lines. But Camelot held the higher ground, and most of the enemy seemed to be waiting for something, evidently unconcerned that the Camelot contingent grew steadily larger as more men arrived.

“I counted about a dozen dragons on her side,” said Leon, when the Knights, plus Merlin, convened in Arthur’s war-tent later that day.

Arthur looked thoughtful. “Merlin, the unharnessed dragons – will they fight for us?”

Merlin nodded. “Yes, if we let them.”

“I need you to go back to the covert and try to get as many of them to join us as possible,” said Arthur.

“As long as you’re the one who tells the men out there that they’ll be fighting alongside unharnessed dragons,” said Gwaine.

“I suspect they’ll prefer it to having to look out for a dozen enemy dragons overhead.”

 

~*~

 

“I will not ask you to fight, if you don’t want to,” Merlin said to the dragons in the covert. “But Camelot has need of you.”

He returned to the Camelot camp with ten dragons, and also Gwen and Pasy, who would not be left behind.

 

~*~

 

"What are they waiting for?" asked Gwaine.

There was a deep, resounding _crack_ of thunder, hard enough to rattle bones, though the sky remained cloudless and clear. Dragons hissed. The air in front of the enemy line shimmered, like ripples on a hot day.

"That, I think," said Elyan.

A stray wind whipped through camp, stirring up dead leaves and dust. It was warm, despite the seasonal chill in the air. A shudder curled around Merlin's neck and trickled its way downwards. A peculiar smell teased at the edge of awareness. Not a flower, he was sure; there was something dry and old and _dead_ about it. 

It was unlike any spell Merlin had ever seen. The sense of _power_ in the air never grew above a whisper, never more than a soft prickling over his skin. The closest he could compare it to was when he changed into his older guise, though stretched out over twice the length of time. 

There was a stir among the enemy ranks, and then Morgana was walking out, stopping a few feet in front of her front line. The air rippled around her. A faint column of dust toyed with her dark dress. She seemed to be growing - no, she _was_ growing, her form stretching out, up, clothing and skin melting together, her face blurring and twisting. Merlin couldn't look away, even though watching made him squirm uncomfortably on the inside. 

"What is she doing?" Arthur's voice would have made Merlin jump, if he wasn't too occupied with the way his skin was _crawling_.

"I don't know," admitted Merlin. "All those dead villagers - she must have been working on this spell."

Arthur shifted restlessly, peering down at Merlin. "What's the matter? You're all... jittery."

"Whatever the spell is, it's..." Merlin searched for the right word, "not _wrong_ , precisely, but a very bad idea? Like that time with Gwaine and the hedgehog and the village well."

The royal face scrunched up in distaste. "There are times when I worry that that incident will be all that's remembered of my reign."

There was another loud _crack_. Merlin jumped, instinctively feeling for his magic; the way Arthur's eyes became riveted on his face, despite what was happening with Morgana _right there_ between the two armies, told Merlin that his eyes must be glowing gold. He could no longer see what Morgana was doing, as the very air around her seemed to twist and warp in unseemly ways. He didn't dare reach out with his own power, though he wanted to, but with raw magic buzzing under his skin, he thought he could detect Morgana's spell as tasting of _transformation_.

A third and final _crack_ that was more of an explosion, and Merlin stumbled back, a shockwave hitting him that, for a second, greyed out his vision, then left motes of light dancing in front of his eyes; wind rushed in all directions away from where Morgana stood.

Except, it wasn't Morgana any longer. Or not Morgana as Merlin knew her. Bright eyes stared at all of them, a long black neck arching gracefully, dark wings with blue striations unfolding and stretching out.

"By the gods," whispered Arthur, "she turned herself into a _dragon_."

 

~*~

 

The Camelot camp was in disarray.

“She’s going to fly right over us,” said Elyan. 

“The dragons will do their best to make sure she doesn’t,” promised Merlin.

Merlin was on his way to Aithusa when he ran into somebody. He opened his mouth to apologize, and realized it was Otho.

“Otho? What are you doing here?”

The covert-master gave him a somber look. It was the first time, Merlin realized, that he’d seen the man sober. He was about to ask – something, he wasn’t sure, but the words died in his mouth because his gaze fell on Otho’s arm, where Merlin had bumped into him, and Otho’s skin _flickered_. For a second, Merlin saw dark blue, patterned lines - _scales_.

His eyes widened. He remembered Otho’s paranoia, Otho never leaving the covert, Otho worrying that there were people who wanted to check on him.

“Even when people know the legend,” said Otho, shrugging as if these things happened all the time, “They do not wonder at the smaller details. Such as: what happened to the tribe who’d lived in Camelot before the wanderer-king came? It was we, after all, who first brought the Great Dragons into this dream.”

After a moment, Merlin shook himself. “You could have told me, you know. And you could have been nicer to me.”

“My kind are far less friendlier than dragons,” said Otho. “In any case, I have come to give you this.” He held out a familiar yellow-white blade.

“That’s the dagger from Arthur’s coronation,” said Merlin, remembering the bloodletting that had left no trace on the blade. 

“It takes a great deal of effort to kill a dragon,” said Otho. “They are resistant to magic, and using regular weapons will cost many men – and this is for the common dragons. The form she has taken is that of a Great Dragon.” He pressed the dagger into Merlin’s hand. “One stab with this, anywhere, as long as you draw blood, and she will die.”

Merlin could only stare. The thought of bringing such a weapon anywhere near Aithusa made him want to blast it out of existence. “I can’t. No, there has to be another-“

“It is a terrible thing, but she has brought war upon your door,” said Otho gravely. “You are going against an enemy who has nothing to lose.”

“And she is pitting herself against people who have _everything_ to lose,” said Merlin. 

“Take the dagger, dragonlord,” said Otho. “You and I both know that there are worse dreams than death.”

 

~*~

 

The moment the dark shapes of Morgana’s dragons took to the sky, the Camelot dragons reared up.

Leon waved at Merlin from aboard Elpis. “The command is yours!”

Wait. “What?” shouted Merlin. He skidded to a halt in front of the Yellow Reaper.

“Dragons give precedence according to size,” said Leon. “Aithusa is the largest dragon here, and a Great Dragon besides.”

“But Arthur gave the command to you.”

“Aye, on land, among other men.” Leon grinned. “But once we are in the air, among dragons – you are the dragonlord.”

Merlin stared for a long moment. Aithusa’s voice calling him brought him back to the present, and reminded him that _there was no time_. He finally nodded to Leon and turned to get to his own dragon.

“Merlin?” Leon called after him. Merlin looked back at the Knight. “It’s not just because you are dragonlord, you know. If there were no dragons involved, I would still follow wherever you lead.”

Merlin swallowed heavily. “Thank you, my friend.”

 

~*~

 

The air was heavy with the cries of battle: men and horses clashing violently on the ground while dragons roared and clawed at each other far above. Morgana’s dragons flew towards them in a long, bedraggled line, slightly thicker in the middle, no formation at all. At Merlin’s signal, Decima and Elpis flew in to flank Aithusa, flying a little behind her on either side, and Pasy brought up the rear, so that the four dragons formed a loose diamond.

“There’s a knot of dragons over there that Pliny and Laise can break up,” suggested Aithusa. “And Hespy can sneak in while they’re distracted.”

Merlin pressed a hand against Aithusa’s neck and reached out with his magic to the two dragons in question. “ _Pliny, Laise, Hespy, I need the three of you to focus on those Yellow Reapers over there._ ” He visualized the plan that Aithusa had thought of.

The dragons called back their agreement, and wheeled off from the main body of the Camelot forces. Merlin had Dara moving forward to fill the gap they left behind. Merlin ordered several more adjustments to the group; the dragons followed instruction well, but resolved to put every dragon through formation training if they ever got back to Camelot.

The distance between the two draconic forces grew less and less, and then Aithusa was grappling with a Blue Copper. The impact jarred Merlin briefly, but he quickly became more concerned about the other dragon’s sharp claws, which were attempting to tear at Aithusa’s underbelly. All around them, Merlin could hear the other dragons locked in close-combat.

“Aithusa, the formation,” he reminded the Great Dragon. Aithusa snarled and pushed off the Blue Copper, ignoring taunts to get her to follow. She managed to stay in formation with Elpis, Decima, and Pasy right through the line of enemy dragons, scattering the huddle in the middle. 

Morgana was still on the ground, Merlin noted. He had no time to wonder what sort of mischief she was up to, because once there were no more dragons in front of them, the Camelot formation wheeled around, so that this time Pasy was the one at the head.

The enemy dragons who’d turned around to engage them were clearly not expecting the maneuver. The closest one flew right into Pasy’s path; she opened her jaws and released her acid. The unfortunate dragon immediately veered away, scrabbling at its eyes and emitting loud cries of pain that made Merlin wince. Two of the enemy decided to go at Pasy at once, both of them larger than her. Without hesitating, she folded her wings and dropped down. Aithusa put on a burst of speed while Decima and Elpis drew in tighter, and thus the two would-be attackers were met with a trio of sharp claws and greater bulk. One, a Yellow Reaper bearing many scars, retreated with deep wounds along their flank; the other, a young Anglewing, somehow got one of their long wings caught between Aithusa’s bulk and Decima’s tail, and began plummeting right after disentangling themself.

Merlin took the opportunity to cast a look over the battle. Only minutes had passed, though it felt much longer after the dragons’ multiple engagements; the battle on the ground had hardly changed. He spotted Gwaine and felt sure that the Knight was still fighting the same two opponents as he had been before the dragons came in. The unharnessed dragons were holding their own, though without the protective benefits of a formation, most of them were sporting wounds. Laise and Pliny and Hespy were still fighting together. Terty was flying oddly, one wing crooked, and Dara’s hide was spattered with blood.

And then there was a burst of light; Merlin instinctively ducked as fire seemed to cover the entire sky. A nearby Greyling, one of the enemy, gave a loud cry, clearly heartened. Merlin looked over Aithusa’s shoulder and saw the large, dark imitation of a Great Dragon rising from the ground on long wings of shadow.

Morgana had entered the fight.

 

~*~

 

A jet if fire flew towards Decima. The Chequered Nettle flinched. Aithusa managed to reach her in time, flying in front of her to absorb Morgana’s blast. Then Merlin had only a moment to check that Decima and Percival were all right before Aithusa was haring after another stream of fire, this one aimed at Pliny.

They might have been able to handle just Morgana, or just the other dragons, but both was pushing the limit of Aithusa’s endurance. Merlin couldn’t remember ever casting his magic so quickly before, and in so many different directions. He was tiring, they all were, and even though they’d picked off a few of the enemy dragons, the ones that remained in the battle were evidently energized by the arrival of their leader.

“Merlin, look behind us!” cried Aithusa. She roared, clear and strong, cutting through the air like a blade made of sound. It was taken up by the dragons nearest to them, and the dragons beyond them, and then more, impossibly more voices, until the air felt more like a sea of sound, with great tides rippling outward.

Merlin turned and looked, and saw: a broad spread of many colors, eyes bright with battle-fever, wings rising and falling in different beats, more still streaming in from the direction of Camelot. All the dragons of the covert taking wing, flying to their aid, singing out a forgotten song in defense of their ancient territory.

 

~*~

 

“I see that Arthur has finally given you a promotion,” sneered Morgana. She opened her jaws and shot fire at him. 

Her eyes widened when the fire parted easily above both dragon and rider, deflected by what looked to be an invisible bubble. Dragon-Morgana bared her teeth, her shadowy wings flexing, and there was barely-contained fury in her voice when she cried, “ _You_.”

Aithusa merely dodged the next jet of fire. 

“You deceitful little _worm_.” Another fire-ball, which Merlin caught and redirected towards an enemy Yellow Reaper that was chasing after Hespy. “Does Arthur know? Of course, he must, you wouldn’t dare show it out in the open if he didn’t. Because you are a _coward_.”

“Morgana,” said Merlin.

“You left me to suffer! You _poisoned_ me.” Morgana lunged at them. Aithusa neatly evaded her, though her shadow-wings passed far too close for Merlin’s comfort. 

Something caught her attention, and she veered away. Merlin took the opportunity to catch his breath. Aithusa whirled around and flew at a Yellow Reaper who’d caught hold of Pliny’s tail. The enemy dragon squawked and let go, speeding off in a different direction. 

“Merlin, Merlin!” cried Aithusa urgently. “It’s Arthur.”

Merlin frantically scanned the ground below. There were men fighting everywhere, and close enough that it was hard to distinguish even the bright red colors of Camelot. He spotted Elyan and Lancelot fighting back-to-back, and Gwaine not too far away, but there was no sign of Arthur.

And then Merlin saw Agravaine dragging a struggling body out of the fighting, towards a clearing where Morgana was waiting.

Aithusa dove towards Agravaine, roaring. Morgana hissed something guttural and not designed, probably, for the human mouth. Aithusa convulsed and reared back. Merlin clung on tightly and tried to see if she’d been hurt. Dark tendrils, of a similar shadow-like substance to Morgana’s peculiar wings, wound themselves around Aithusa’s body. Merlin lashed out with his magic, with fire drawn from Aithusa, but the tendrils absorbed his efforts. Aithusa made a pained noise whenever she made contact with the shadowy bonds; there was barely any space for her to beat her wings, and she was forced to almost hover, though her wings were not designed to fly in such a manner.

Below, Agravaine was throwing Arthur onto the ground. Arthur cast his uncle a dark look, but kept his focus on the blue-black dragon who landed in front of him.

“You have done well, Agravaine,” said Morgana. 

“Anything for you, my Lady.” Agravaine bowed.

“Is that so?” She peered closely at him. “Then, tell me, why did you inform Helios and his men that you would be the one leading the invasion after I cast the transformation spell?”

“Ah, my Lady,” sputtered Agravaine, “That was only – more of a precaution, in case the men balked at obeying orders from a-“ he paused, waving a hand over her new form.

“A _dragon_?” said Morgana amusedly. “I suppose I can see where you’re coming from. Fortunately, Helios is a man of great loyalty, and his own people value strength in their leaders. Would you not say that this form embodies _strength_ , Agravaine?”

“Yes, yes it does, my Lady,” Agravaine rushed to assure her. “It demonstrates your power as both a war-leader and a sorceress. Please, forgive me, I meant no offense by my words to Helios.”

“Oh, how can I be offended when one of my trusted advisors goes behind my back and attempts to supplant me?” She growled. “Step closer, Agravaine.”

Agravaine stumbled forward. Merlin expected her to humiliate him, or punish him in a deeply personal manner; so he was shocked when she lifted one claw and, almost casually, stabbed him through the chest with one long, curved talon. Agravaine fell to the ground without a noise.

“Pathetic,” muttered Morgana. She wiped her talon on the grass. Then she turned her attention back to Arthur. Merlin belatedly realized that Arthur was standing stiffly, and there was blood on the bottom rings of his chainmail. 

Morgana leaned in close enough that she could have bumped Arthur with her nose, if she wanted; Arthur didn’t flinch, but met her bright eyes directly. "Morgana, if you have a grievance against me, then hold _me_ accountable, not the people of Camelot, who have done you no harm."  
"But it hurts you much worse when I hurt them," responded Morgana.

Her claw swung out again. Merlin screamed, Aithusa shuddering under him in distress. Arthur swayed where he stood, hands clutching his middle; he stared at the blood that began to slip out between his fingers, uncomprehending, and then raised his head to blink, wide-eyed at the dragon in front of him.

"You are less than nothing to me, Arthur Pendragon," hissed Morgana. "I spill your blood to be free of it; your death will only strengthen me."

Arthur staggered. Merlin didn't realize that he was shouting Arthur's name until the smoke nearly choked him. He stared as Arthur tried to walk - not to escape, but _towards_ Morgana. Morgana merely watched him, patient and pleased. Arthur collapsed between one step and the next, and did not get up again.

Suddenly, something _shifted_. It took Merlin a moment to understand, to think past _Arthur, Arthur is hurt, Arthur_ and grasp thoughts through his blind panic. But where his magic had taken years to properly learn, to use beyond the level of instinctive reactions, the part of him that was dragonlord lived in his blood, in his bones, had grown as he had grown. _Man and dragon intertwined_. He'd known, abstractly, that he was now a man rather than a boy, but he'd not thought about the part of him that was dragon. The death of his father, the arrival of Aithusa, the bond with Arthur - the dragon half of him had _matured_. He was now full-grown, truly, whole in a way that Morgana could never be because he had _lived_ both sides of himself.

Morgana didn't understand.

_Man and dragon intertwined._

Power in return for obeisance. The crisscrossing ways in which the magic of dragons had been bound up with that of men was something that would likely take Merlin a lifetime of study to fully comprehend. But he knew, at the base of it all, that a dragon's power came from their _allegiances_.

Aithusa roared. It wasn't the call to battle from earlier, though it was a battle-song. The notes rose and fell, striking, almost joyful; it reflected the way Merlin's insides were churning with pain and desperation, _Arthur_ , fearful and yet fearless; it sang of battles won and battles lost and battles never fought; it was of all the ways love was like fire, essential and terrible and consuming.

Magic flowed and shaped in Merlin's mind. He didn't reach out with it, because he didn't have to; the dark tendrils imprisoning him and Aithusa twisted and faded away. It was the hardest thing in the world to fly right over Arthur without stopping to help him, to check if he still lived, but Morgana was the enemy, the invader.

She flinched back, clearly not expecting their attack. Blasts of fire erupted around them, tinged with that darkness that carried into all her spells. The heat suited the rage that was boiling under Merlin's skin; he struggled to contain it, because he knew there lay a trap that was worse than anything Morgana could ever do.

Morgana worked her powerful wings and lunged forward, talons seeking Aithusa's hide. Merlin whispered, _No_ , and Morgana's body shuddered, forelegs curling away, and she had to twist at the last moment to avoid a collision.

She flipped around neatly and attempted another pass. She got no closer than the last time; her body seemed to convulse in mid-air, and she howled as if in pain.  
"What is happening?” she raged. “What have you done?"

Aithusa flew a circle around her, and Merlin added a touch of power to his voice so that she could hear him. "Don't you understand? The spell you used is meant only for transforming into simpler creatures - animals without a sense of self. You should have known to never try a dragon." Merlin thought of all the dead they'd found, their bodies altered unnaturally. He knew, now, that Morgana must have been honing the spell, until she was confident she could change without being killed by it. But she had not considered what might happen after. "Dragons are creatures of magic, and magic is governed by _contracts_. You are in _Camelot_ , Morgana, and Camelot is _dragonland_."

As if to emphasize his point, another battle-song started up in the far edges of the fighting, rolling over the field of battle like thunder. "For as long as you could claim bloodties to Arthur, you remained in the domain of men." He held up a hand; she snapped at him, but her blue-black fire flowed over his skin without causing harm. "You disavowed him in order to gain the full powers of your dragon form. But, Morgana - here, within the bounds of Camelot, dragons are _mine_."

  


 

~*~

 

It was simple, in the end, to force her to land and to hold her, and once they saw their leader helpless and incapacitated, Morgana's forces surrendered or fled. Merlin forced himself to stay in the air until he was sure that Camelot's forces had the enemy well in hand. He looked down at where Arthur was lying on the ground, unmoving. 

Aithusa didn't say anything, didn't have to; her anger simmered in the back of his mind, sharp and bitter. She wanted to kill Morgana, because Morgana had tried to kill Merlin, might have killed Arthur. Justice, for dragons, was fairly straightforward. It didn't help that Merlin wanted the same; he was tired of living under the fear of her.

His hand went to the dagger, tucked securely under his cloak. 

Finally, he whispered, _sleep_ , folding the command inside Aithusa's magic. The dark dragon snarled, then collapsed heavily. 

Merlin didn't remember Aithusa landing, or himself hitting the ground. He was just at Arthur's side, hands running over Arthur's body.

“Arthur? Arthur!” 

The world hung, suspended, and then Arthur’s eyes fluttered slightly and he let out a soft groan. The rush of relief nearly left Merlin collapsed, himself. 

“Hey,” murmured Arthur. A hand came up to touch Merlin’s brow. “I suppose it was my turn to have a heroic brush with death.”

Merlin’s chuckle sounded more like a sob to his own ears. 

“Now you know how I feel every time you do something like this,” continued Arthur, “If I were a better man, I would have sent you somewhere safe a long time ago, or given you a different position. But I wanted you with me all the time, even when you made things worse; I should have wondered why.”

“I would tear the world apart, if I lost you,” said Merlin. He meant for it to be a joke, or so he thought, but it came out sounding desperate, more like an oath. “Think about it. At least your father wouldn’t use magic. I wouldn’t care. Remember that, next time.”

Merlin buried his face in Arthur’s chest. He could hear the sounds of men shouting in the distance, the wounded and dying being seen to, even the beginnings of a victory celebration. But all he care for in the world was right there: Arthur breathing and whole under his fingers, and Aithusa standing protectively over them, the White Dragon forever guarding Camelot.


	12. Epilogue

  


**EPILOGUE**

Merlin regularly visited Morgana in her prison. They seldom spoke to each other, or at least Morgana rarely responded to Merlin’s words. But there was one exchange that stayed with him, and one which he never told Arthur about.

 _Do you know that you are my doom, Emrys? You cage me now, but you_ will _finish it, one day._

She always called him ‘Emrys’, now - never ‘Merlin’.

_Arthur was supposed to marry Gwen, you know. I don’t think you understand what you’ve done._

He didn’t bother telling her that Gwen might still marry Arthur. The King would need heirs, and it wasn’t as if Merlin’s position as dragonlord could be usurped. Or Gwen might marry Lancelot. But it was no business of Morgana’s. 

“I thought you didn’t want Gwen marrying Arthur,” he said. “You kidnapped Gwen to make sure she never married Arthur.”

_Just because I do not wish it to happen does not make it any less of a prophecy._

“And what do you see now, oh beauteous and dreaded seer?”

_There is no need to mock. And why should I tell you?_

“Because no one else will listen to you.”

She was quiet for so long that Merlin thought he would get no more from her. He was turning to leave when light burst through the room, casting odd shadows; her fire rendered harmless by the magic binding her.

_I see an end to warlocks and sorcerers and seers and mages. I see the Old Religion forgotten and the lines of kings buried. I see a world much changed. Because of what you have done, Emrys – I see the end of magic._

A chill ran through Merlin. “Magic has a different meaning, for dragons.”

 _Fool! You are still a boy who does not understand the things that he has set in motion._ The walls of the prison clanged. _It is_ you _who will bring an end to magic, because you would rather cast the world into darkness than live without your precious, golden King._

The moment he understood her words, Merlin wished for nothing more than to be able to erase them, to believe that they had not been said. The prize and price of prophecy was one and the same – the knowing of the future. 

Even worse, he had no trouble believing it. Had he not said the very same thing to Arthur?

“So be it,” he eventually said. Morgana went silent and still; he supposed she had been expecting a different response. A world without magic – he could hardly imagine. “But at least there will always be dragons.”

He went to the door. Right before he left, he asked, “Will you ever speak again, Morgana? In your real voice, I mean.”

The continued silence was all the answer he got. He shook his head, stepped out into the sunlight, and closed the door behind him.

 

Cesan glared at Arthur. "I don't want to be bonded! I do not care if you are the King."

Arthur blinked, looking confused. "Um. All right? I believe the law does not allow me to harness a dragon, anyway." At the dragon’s inquiring noise, Arthur explained, “A dragon-captain’s foremost duty is to his dragon. It would be unfair to the people of Camelot for my attentions to be divided between the kingdom and a dragon.”

The dragon narrowed his eyes, but the agitation faded from his body. "Good." After a moment, he said, "If you were to require a dragon's services, however, you may ask."

Aithusa snorted. Cesan's head whipped around, but by the time he looked their way, Aithusa and Merlin were conspicuously facing a different direction, looking for all intents and purposes to be deep in discussion. 

“I’m still not entirely convinced that the dragons will be any help with the hunt,” said Gwaine, strolling into the passageway. “I mean, most of them were hatched here, right? Fed regularly everyday – they haven’t exactly had to hone their hunting instincts.”

“Which is why I’m sure you’ve sent Percival and Elyan to raid the kitchens,” said Merlin.

“Is that why Lancelot was walking around without a shirt?” asked Arthur. He made a face at Gwaine. “Don’t tell me you finally corrupted _Lancelot_.”

Merlin rolled his eyes and left the two to their bickering, heading for the kitchens in case there were Knights in need of rescuing from the fearsome beast that was the royal cook.

 

Later that night, Arthur would bring his blanket over to where Merlin was leaning against Aithusa’s foreleg. They would all be full of fire-roasted game and ill-gotten ale; Merlin would jostle Arthur for a greater share of the blanket; Gwen would cajole Leon into wearing the hat she’d knitted for him; Lancelot would sneak sweetmeats to Pasy while Gwen wasn’t looking; Elyan and Gwaine would argue on that week’s topic of contention until Percival intervened. And maybe they would tell each other stories, or tease each other, or simply enjoy their stolen time of rest.

And all around them, huddled together under the open sky, would sleep the dragons, silent and softly dreaming.

  
**THE END**   



End file.
